


Arabian Avengers

by Wordsplat



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Adventure, Aladdin (Fairy Tale) - Freeform, Alternate Universe, Crossover, Getting Together, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-13
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-05 04:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/718939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wordsplat/pseuds/Wordsplat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An Aladdin/The Avengers crossover, starring Tony as a quick-thinking street rat with a pet monkey named Dummy and a price on his head, Prince Steve as King Nick Fury's ward who's engaged to Princess Peggy against both of their wishes, and Bruce as a thousand year old genie who really thinks Tony needs to get his act together already and just kiss the girl-er, guy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

_**Twenty Years Ago** _

The stars were the only light guiding Obadiah's way as he left the kingdom of Midgard on horseback in the dead of night. The entire royal palace had been thrown into chaos that day by the disappearance of the newborn Prince, and as royal advisor to King Howard, he had spent all day running around, organizing searches, interrogating witnesses, and consoling the heartbroken King and Queen.

"You're late."

The man who met him was Loki, a foreign sorcerer and ex-Prince cast out from his own kingdom, a man of little moral standing and even lesser worth, useful only to Obadiah because of his dealings with dark magic. He stood next to a horse, shifting impatiently, the hawk on his shoulder crooking it's head to look at Obadiah curiously.

Obadiah wanted the throne. He'd hired Loki to kidnap and kill the infant Prince—he had no taste for killing an infant himself, there were people to be paid to keep his hands clean, and Loki was one of them. Obadiah had been prepared to pay a hefty price, but the sorcerer had only asked for one thing in return, the half-piece of the Golden Scarab that lay in the castle vaults. It was a mystical object that, as myth would have it, would lead whoever united the pieces to untold treasure.

Obadiah, always on the lookout for more ways to make money, found a new plan forming in his mind.

Last night, Loki must have come and gone, using his spells to render himself invisible and the baby's cries soundless, for no one heard a sound nor saw a shadow. Tonight, he met with the man, and once Loki assured him of Prince Anthony's death, he would kill Loki and take his half-piece, assuring all the riches for himself.

"I had trouble leaving the castle," Obadiah sniffed as he dismounted his horse, "It should come as no surprise that they've increased their security. I've interrogated half the kingdom today, no one saw hide nor hair of you and the child."

"Did you doubt me?" Loki's smirk was wry, but Obadiah simply narrowed his eyes.

"Do you have proof?"

"Would you have liked the little thing's skull?" Loki gave him a distasteful look, "I took you not for a man of such morbid pleasures."

"I want only to know for certain that he is dead."

"I assure you," Loki gave a sweeping, almost mocking sort of bow, "My  _King_ , that Midgard's Prince is long lost to this world."

"Then I thank you for your service," Obadiah smirked, unsheathing his sword and advancing upon Loki, who only gave him a dark half-smile in return.

"Ah," Loki only chuckled, "Pity."

Loki dispatched Obadiah in less than a minute, dodging his wide swordsweeps easily to tap a finger against his heart, murmuring something soft in Arabic.

"You would have been wise to simply pay me, fool," Loki chuckled as Obadiah slumped forward, his eyes going pitch black before becoming a bright, hazy sort of blue, "Now you shall be my test subject."

"Yes," Obadiah intoned.

"Hand me your half of the Scarab," Loki ordered, and Obadiah did so compliantly.

Loki pulled his own half-piece from the satchel around his waist, clicking them into place. The Scarab lit up, coming alive before Loki's eyes and flying off into the night. Loki hopped on his horse, ordered Obadiah to follow, and took off after it across the dunes and deep into the desert. At long last, the Scarab split itself up again and dove into the sand, becoming the eyes of a large tiger's head that rose from the sand, it's gaping jaws opening to reveal a fiery tunnel.

"At long last," Loki murmured, "The Cave of Wonder…"

He'd been seeking the genie's lamp for near a decade, ever since his foolish brother had been chosen as Crown Prince of Asgard instead of him. He'd attempted to take over the kingdom by force, and their father had cast him out—perhaps not his best move, but the rejection and abrupt learning of his true parentage had stung fiercely.

So he spent the years seeking the genie's lamp, to wish himself King of Asgard once more, and he'd finally tracked it down to this Cave of Wonder. He approached the cavern, but the tiger's head blew him back, growling loudly.

"Who disturbs my slumber?"

"It is I, Loki of Asgard!"

"Know this," the tiger rumbled, "Only one may enter, one whose worth lies far within. The diamond in the rough."

Loki pushed Obadiah forward, unwilling to test this beast himself.

"Find me the lamp, Stane," Loki ordered, and the mind-controlled Obadiah simply nodded.

He went into the cavern, but this seemed to infuriate the tiger, who swallowed Stane whole and collapsed in upon itself with one last, rumbling warning.

"Seek thee out, the diamond in the rough."

Then there was nothing but sand, the two Golden Scarab halves tumbling to Loki's feet. He hissed his displeasure.

"Great!" Clint, Loki's hawk, surfaced from the sand, shaking his head to get the sand out of his ears, " _Another_ setback. We're never going to get ahold of that stupid lamp."

Clint Barton was a spy of Midgard, or he had been, until Loki had used mind-control on him. It hadn't been particularly effective at stifling his personality, however, so Loki transformed him into a hawk to keep him from getting up to too much trouble.

"Look at me! I'm so stressed that I'm  _molting!"_ Clint seemed outraged, and Loki merely sighed.

"Patience, Barton, patience. Stane was obviously less than worthy."

"Oh,  _there's_ a big surprise," Clint rolled his eyes, "I think I'm gonna have a heart attack and die from such  _surprise_  that the traitorous advisor who had you kill a baby wasn't worthy. Please, stop surprising me like this, Loki, I can't take it."

"I did not kill the child," Loki pointed out.

"Oh, right, only stole it from it's parents and sold it to some black market weirdo, right, that kid's gonna grow up swell."

Loki shot him a withering look; Clint, as per usual, didn't seem particularly deterred by this

"So what're we gonna do now? Can we give up? Oh, pretty please, can we give up? I'd like hands again, hands would be nice. And legs, I miss those too. Also, people keep trying to swat at me like I'm some sort of fly-"

"We shall not give up," Loki shook his head, determined, "We must simply must find this…'diamond in the rough'."

"Great. That's not vague at all."


	2. Chapter 2

_**Now** _

"Stop! Thief!"

Tony skidded to a stop at the edge of the rooftop, looking back at the guards chasing him, then at the loaf of bread in his hands.

"All this for a loaf of bread? Seriously?" he complained to himself.

"Nowhere to run, boy," the chief guard, Phil Coulson drew his sword, his best guards, Maria Hill and Natasha Romanov flanking sides and doing the same, "It's time you come with us."

"Eh," Tony pretended to consider it, "Maybe next time."

Then he leapt off the roof, grabbing the clotheslines on his way down. It wasn't his best escape and he was pretty sure his hands were getting ropeburn, but he landed with only a bruise or two and a pile of clothes on his head, so all in all, not half bad. He managed to hold onto the bread too, and that was always a win.

"You won't get away so easy, street rat!" Hill shouted from the rooftop, her and Romanov leaping onto the clothesline after him. For palace guards, those two were surprisingly nimble.

"You think that was easy?" Tony grumbled, scrambling up and bowing jokingly to the ladies who were giggling at him appreciatively.

"Morning, ladies," he shot them a wink, wrapping himself up in the clothes that had fallen on him in an effort to disguise himself.

"Getting into trouble a little early today, aren't we Tony?" one of the ladies tsked and sighed at him, but he knew she was hiding a smile at his antics.

"Trouble? Me? Never," Tony grinned, leaning against the doorway, "You're only in trouble if you get caugh-"

"What was that about getting caught, boy?" Coulson snatched him by the back of his threadbare jacket and yanked.

"I'mintrouble."

Then Dummy, the pet monkey Tony had rescued years ago, was up on Coulson's head, yanking his turban down over his eyes. Coulson's hands shot up reflexively, and Tony ducked away."

"Perfect timing, Dummy. I may not sell you for monkey meat after all."

Dummy, knowing Tony was only teasing, hopped up on his arm and they took off down the alleyway. He ducked and weaved, narrowly avoiding the guards swords and bantering away.

"I only steal what I can't afford," he reasoned with a roguish grin.

"That's everything," Hill just snapped at him, never one to fall for charms, and going in for a quick one-two jab. Tony dodged away, climbing up a stack of barrels and ducking in the nearest window.

"Don't involve me in your thievery," a hefty woman swatted him back out with a broom, "Coulson would have your head, boy."

"Gotta eat to live, gotta steal to eat," he shrugged, "Otherwise, y'know I almost think we'd get along."

"Out!"

"Man, you're my only friend, Dummy," Tony patted the monkey on his shoulder as he ducked back out the window.

"I'd like to blame your parents, but you haven't got any, have you?" the woman just grumbled after him.

"You know me," Tony shot her a mask of a grin, "Just your average street rat."

Then he was gone before she could say anything more. The guards were of course waiting below, and he only narrowly avoided their swords. He ducked through the streets, taking every back alley and secret passageway he knew until at last he managed to leave them behind, taking another dive off a rooftop, this time using a rug as a makeshift parachute to make his landing a bit easier.

"And now!" Tony declared to Dummy, leaning against the wall they'd landed on the other side of and breaking the bread in half, "We feast!"

Then he saw the children.

Skinnier than he was, small and fragile and looking hopelessly through the trash. Tony sighed; he couldn't have resisted if he wanted to. He took one good bite, then went over to the kids and passed off his prize. He gave Dummy a stern look until the monkey grudgingly did the same.

"Good boy, Dummy," he patted Dummy's head, waving for him to follow along.

He wandered back through the streets, heading home, until he caught sight of a growing crowd. He blended in easily, watching with the others as lines of horses rode by, guards atop, leading the sole white horse behind them. Atop the horse was a was clearly a princess; she was garbed in bright, opulent clothing, a veil drawn across her face and jewels studded in her hair.

Tony's attention was drawn more to those than the princess; he knew how to charm a lady, it came in handy, but he'd never been particularly interested in them. Jewels like that, however, would sell for a hefty fee.

"Watch your step," one of the people in front of him whispered to another, "Don't get too close. That's Princess Margaret Carter, she's to be the Prince's bride. They'll have your head if they think you mean harm."

Then Tony caught sight of the children he'd just helped running out into the street. The older girl was chasing after the little boy, who'd caught sight of the horses. They startled the horse, and the head of the Princess' security raised his whip to lash them out of the way.

Tony pushed his way forward out of the crowd, stepping in front of them and grabbing hold of the whip as it lashed forward.

"Hey," he warned, pulling on his end of the whip and yanking it out of the guard's hands, "Y'know, if I were as rich as you, I think I could afford some manners."

"I'll teach you manners," the guard only snarled, shoving Tony into the mud, "Worthless street rat."

Then the procession continued filing into the palace gates, the doors slamming shut before Tony could follow.

"I'm not worthless," he grumbled to the closed doors.

Later that night, Tony found that he couldn't sleep. He lived in a care on the edges of the city, and he stared out the open edge that gave him a perfect view of the palace.

"Someday, Dummy," he murmured, "Someday, things are gonna change. We'll be rich, live in a palace…we'll never have any problems at all."

* * *

"Good luck marrying  _that_ one off!" Chester Phillips burst through the double doors into the throne room, and King Nick Fury only raised an eyebrow.

Chester Phillips was the head of security and personal guard of the eastern kingdom's Princess Margaret Carter, better known as Peggy. While Princess Peggy was perfectly pleasant, if a bit headstrong, Phillips was an ill-tempered man Nick had to deal with far more often than he liked. The eastern kingdom had a number of very valuable resources, however, so he kept his own temper in check.

"I am in a meeting."

Thor, Prince of the northern kingdom, Asgard, was to his left. In truth, it was more along the lines of catching up, since they'd been swapping war stories for the past hour over a heavy amount of alcohol—Asgard had some of the finest, no question—but Nick was all for positive spin.

"Your, your  _Prince,"_ Phillips only spat, "Is intolerable!"

Steven Rogers was not technically speaking  _Nick's_ Prince. They were unrelated by blood, but then, in the wake of the Stark line's tragic murder, the palace had been in a bit of upheaval. Nick himself didn't have a drop of royal blood; he'd only been in the right place at a horrific time.

Almost twenty years ago now, baby Anthony had been abducted, Advisor Stane had disappeared, and only a short week later the King and Queen had been murdered. It was horrific, the likes of which Midgard had never seen before and twenty years later had still not entirely recovered from.

Nick had been forced to step up from advisor to King and was doing his best, but it was not a job he'd ever anticipated taking on, especially under such circumstances. Thor helped advise him often, as well as his own advisor, Clint Barton. The Stark's had no other blood relatives, and the secondary royal line had been dormant so long that by the time Nick tracked them down, it had been nothing more than a dying woman named Sarah and a sickly young boy, Steven.

After Sarah's death, Nick had brought the boy to the palace, raised him like the King he would soon be. He was supposed to marry and become King on his twenty-first birthday, in only a few weeks, and he'd thankfully grown out of his youthful sickliness into a strapping young lad that, theoretically, any Princess would be interested in.

Until, of course, he opened his mouth.

"Define intolerable," Nick sighed, downing the rest of his cup in preparation for the rest of this day.

"He refuses to marry her! He said it wouldn't be right to lead her on, then spent half an hour describing in vivid detail the 'flaws of the monarchial system' and why forcing marriage on someone is a 'social injustice', and now he's got Princess Peggy spouting this, this  _nonsense_  too!"

Nick rubbed his forehead; he could already feel the migraine forming.

Steve had a bit of a…a  _thing_ when it came to justice.

"I'll speak with him," Nick stood, turning to Prince Thor, "It was good to see you again. I hope we'll get a chance to talk again before you leave, but I've got to deal with…this."

"Of course," Prince Thor nodded, a smile beginning to form, "Shall I join you? Prince Steven and I have spoken at length in the past, I may perhaps help persuade him to see the value of marriage."

"It's not marriage he's against," Nick muttered.

Steve was…challenging. He had somehow gotten it in his head that marriage was for love, and could not seem to be persuaded otherwise. Since he was of the secondary royal bloodline, however, he could not take the throne without being wed to another royal line.

Steve, like he did most things, did not take this lying down.

He chased away princess after princess, claiming one was too boring, another too wild. Some weren't smart enough, others snobbish, still others vain. Nothing seemed to please Steve, and none of these ladies seemed to fit his qualifications for 'true love'.

The whole affair was taking years off Nick's life.

"Damn it, Steven!" Nick burst into the courtyard, having worked himself up into a bit of a rage.

He advanced on Steve, only to have Bucky rear up and snarl in his face. The tiger was excessively protective, and Nick cursed the day he'd bought the thing for Steve's sixteenth birthday.

"Confound it, Bucky! Let me by!"

"Oh, he's just playing," Steve waved a hand, and Bucky dropped his growling act and went to nuzzle his head against Steve, who petted him.

"Steve," Nick steeped his fingers, taking a deep breath, "Princess Peggy is the last princess. In  _all of the kingdoms._ You can't turn her down. You've backed yourself—not to mention  _me—_ into a corner here. There are no other options. It's the law!"

"The law is wrong," Steve only frowned at him, "It's not right to marry me off to someone I don't love. And she doesn't love me either, we'd be doing it out of duty-"

"Yes, duty, like  _all royalty before you,"_ Nick stressed, "This is not news, Steve. This is the way it is, the way the world works-"

"Well, it doesn't work for me," Steve huffed, "I should be free to be with who I choose, and I don't choose her, or any of the others."

"Who exactly are you hoping for, here?" Nick threw up his hands, "There is no more royalty for you to choose from!"

"I don't care if they're royalty-"

"The law requires-"

"Then change the law!" Steve shouted, then sighed, "Please, can't you understand? I've never done a thing on my own. I've spent my whole life locked up in this palace, learning how to be a Prince, a King, how to run the kingdom and act properly and land some princess I'm not even attracted to. I've never even had a real friend-"

Bucky gave an indignant, grumbling sort of snorting noise.

"Other than you, of course," Steve patted his head affectionately.

"Steve, you're a Prince-"

"Then maybe I don't want to be!"

"You are  _impossible,"_ Nick made a frustrated noise, running a hand over his face.

He stormed out of the courtyard, passing by a guard as he did.

"Tell Advisor Barton I need to speak with him," Nick ordered, snapping when the guard didn't seem to be moving, " _Now!"_

When the advisor finally entered the throne room, Nick was tapping his fingers angrily on the armrest. Clint had been serving him for twenty years, since the day he'd become King. There was something about him Nick couldn't bring himself to one hundred percent trust, but he was keenly intelligent and gave good advice, so Nick let it slide.

"My liege," Clint bowed low, "What is it that troubles you so?"

"It's this damn suitor business!" Nick growled, standing to pace, "Steve refuses to choose a wife! He's making this into another one of his big political stands, like that protesting the harems incident, and the time he refused to bow to King Zemo because of how he treated his servants!"

"To be fair to the boy," Clint pointed out, "King Zemo was a rather cruel fellow."

"Yes, but he was still a King," Nick insisted, "It was all I could do to stop war with their kingdom. Half the time we're at war I've got Steve begging me to do everything in my power to end it, to bring our soldiers home safely, and the one time I prevent it? He glares at me for weeks! I can't  _win_ with that man!"

"Yes," Clint drawled, stroking the hawk perched upon his shoulder thoughtfully, "Perhaps I could divine a solution?"

"See if you could," Nick nodded, "And if you can find his…his 'true love' or whatever it is he's spouting while you're at it, maybe I can use her as a bargaining chip, convince him to see her on the side but take a public marriage."

"Most wise of you," Clint agreed, "I shall require certain…rare items, however. There is one in particular, the Diamond of Clarity. Have you heard of it?"

"It's somewhere in our treasure rooms, I'm sure I've seen it," Nick nodded, "I'll have Phil escort you down later this afternoon."

"As you wish, your highness," Clint bowed low, then took his leave.

"Wise of him?" the hawk perched upon his shoulder, the real Clint, snorted once they were alone in the hallway, "That kid is the most headstrong son of a bitch I've ever met, if King Fury thinks he would hide his woman away and play house with some other chick for the sake of appearances-"

"He would never," Loki, who had been using Clint's appearance for the past two decades as to go unnoticed, replied, "However, the Diamond of Clarity is one of the last pieces I require for my spell. To think, it's been sitting beneath us all along…we are close, Barton, very close."

"And then I get my body back, right?" Clint ruffled his feathers, "Because I tell you, two decades, and I'm still not fucking used to looking at you and seeing me."

"Patience, Barton. Patience."

* * *

Tony almost fell off the top of the stand when he saw him.

He'd been enjoying his freshly stolen melon breakfast with Dummy on top of one of the market stands when the young man walked by. He was dressed in rags and had a bit of grime on his face, but nothing could disguise the handsomeness of his features. Blonde hair stuck out of his hood in tufts, looking deliciously mussed, and wide blue eyes took in the market like he'd never seen anything so amazing in his life.

He was a pretty big guy all around, big hands, big muscles, and a shoulder to waist ratio Tony wouldn't have believed if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, but he walked with trepidation, as if everything was new and strange and he couldn't believe his eyes. His face was open, honest, everything Tony wasn't, and he was fascinated immediately.

He leaned so far off the edge of the stand he almost fell.

The blonde man handed an apple from a stand to a small boy, then made the mistake of walking away. He got into a dispute with the merchant, who drew his sword ready to cut the man's hand off, so Tony swung down to intervene.

"Oh, thank you kind sir," Tony stepped in, carefully taking the merchant's sword, bullshitting it up as he went along, "I'm so glad you found him. I've been looking all over for you!"

He started to lead the blonde man away by his elbow, who just turned to look at him curiously.

"What are you doing?" he whispered to Tony, his lips pleasantly close to Tony's ear.

"Play along," he whispered back, then, louder, "Thank you so much for finding my brother, sir."

"Your…brother," the merchant seemed suspicious.

Most likely because the man in question was half a foot taller, had fair hair to Tony's dark, blue eyes to Tony's brown, and absolutely gorgeous where Tony was, well, a scrawny street rat.

"Adopted," Tony nodded, "And it's such a pity, but he's a little loose in the head."

"He said he knew the King," the merchant insisted.

"Yeah, well, what'd I just say? He thinks the monkey's the King," Tony waved a hand at Dummy.

The man, god love him, got down on his hands and knees and bowed to Dummy.

"Oh wise and gracious King," the man pressed his forehead to the ground, "However may I serve you?"

Oh, Tony was keeping this one.

"Tragic, isn't it?" he sighed to the merchant while Dummy preened, "Now c'mon,  _brother,_ time to go see the doctor."

"Why hello, doctor? How are you?" the man asked a nearby camel in the most vacant voice Tony had ever heard. He tried and failed not to laugh, ending up making an aborted, snorting sort of noise.

"Not that one," he grinned, turning back to Dummy, "C'mon, 'King'."

Dummy, the little idiot, tried to bow, and ended up dropping the apples he'd stolen.

"Come back here, you thieves!"

"This is where we run," Tony grabbed the man's hand without thinking too much about it and  _ran,_ leading the way down a back alley.

"Thank you," the man kept up easily, without seeming out of breath, "For helping me back there. What's your name?"

"Tony," he could only huff, because he wasn't built like some greek god, thanks, "You?"

"Steve," the smile Steve flashed his way was practically blinding.

Tony didn't let go of his hand.

* * *

"So this Diamond of Clarity thing activates…what, the 'Sands of Time' we put in the 'Hourglass of Reality'? Magic is so weird," Clint complained, "Do we need to find the 'Table of Perfect Balance' too? Or maybe we should be in the 'Room of Divining Things', I don't know if we have enough weirdly named objects yet-"

"Silence, Barton," Loki snapped at him as he placed the diamond in it's resting place on the hourglass. Magic sparked, running through the hourglass and alighting the sand. Loki ordered to it, "Reveal to me the one who may enter the Cave of Wonder."

The sand spun and swirled in the hourglass, revealing a young boy, perhaps nineteen or so, climbing a wooden ladder. He had dark hair and eyes, tanned skin, and he was helping a larger man up the stairs behind him, someone obscured from view.

"That's  _it?"_ Clint groaned, "Twenty years to find some scrawny little brat?"

"Must I repeat myself?" Loki sighed, " _Patience,_ Barton. We shall have the guards extend him an invitation to the palace, and we shall have him within our grasp soon enough."

"Swell," Clint grumbled.


	3. Chapter 3

"Almost there," Tony promised, reaching a hand back to help Steve up the rest of the way to the roof.

They'd spent the day together, Tony showing Steve all the best places to explore in Midgard. He didn't seem to be from around here, and easily impressed to boot, so Tony had a blast teasing and joking around and showing off for Steve all day.

Steve took the offered hand, his own warm and large and almost eclipsing Tony's. Tony stepped back to give Steve space, but Steve just tripped over the edge and flailed right into Tony's open arms.

Tony flushed, quite sure that since Steve's ear was currently pressed to his chest, he could probably hear Tony's heart going about a million miles an hour. Steve stood slowly, raising his head and adjusting his stance, but not actually moving any further away. Tony's hands, traitorous things, didn't leave Steve's waist.

"Sorry," there was a hint of pink on Steve's cheeks, "Bit clumsy."

"I don't mind," the words were out before Tony could stop them, his hands still on Steve's waist.

They were so close their noses were almost brushing.

"I wanted to thank you again," Steve said, his voice low and quiet, so close that he didn't need to speak up, "For earlier."

"Forget it," Tony came back to himself at last, quickly removing his hands from their inappropriate place, ignoring how cold they suddenly felt without Steve's warm skin under his palms, "First time in the marketplace though, huh?"

Dummy helpfully handed him one of the poles littering the rooftop, and Tony used it to vault over to the next rooftop.

"Is it that obvious?" Steve smiled abashedly. Tony smiled back, grabbing a plank of wood and hauling it back to lay across the rooftops for Steve to walk on.

"I just noticed cause I was watching you," Tony admitted, which earned him a delicious blush from the other man, "Uh, in a, um, non-stalkerish sort of way. Obviously. I just mean, you didn't seem to know how dangerous Midgard can be, and I didn't want you to-"

Then Steve was vaulting over him, ignoring the plank Tony had set out entirely.

"I'm a fast learner," he smirked, tossing Tony the pole.

Tony caught it absent-mindedly, his eyes never leaving Steve's as his blood promptly rushed south.

"Uh," he coughed, trying to regain some semblance of self-control, "Well. C'mon."

He took Steve's hand again, leading him across the rooftops and up into the mountainside on the very edges of Midgard. Holding his hand probably wasn't necessary, Steve seemed more than capable of following him, but that was how Tony had been leading Steve places all day and Steve seemed more than fine with holding his hand, so.

Tony tried not to overthink it too much.

"Watch your head," Tony warned as he led Steve through the tunnel that spiraled up into his self-made home.

Steve seemed distracted by something, so Tony stopped and pressed a hand to Steve's head, ducking him down before he hit his head on a stalactite.

"Thanks," Steve looked up at him through his lashes, eyes way too big and bright and blue to be normal, "Seems you're my hero for the day."

"Wouldn't say that," Tony willed himself not to blush again.

"I would," Steve insisted, then, thankfully before Tony had to reply, "Is this where you live?"

"Yep," Tony nodded, "Just me and Dummy."

"You can just…come and go as you please?"

"Yeah."

"That sounds…" Steve sounded wistful, "Fantastic."

"Well, it's not much," Tony admitted with a shrug, then pulled back the curtain for a dramatic reveal, "But it's got a great view."

The sun was setting on the kingdom of Midgard, the clouds an electric orange in the backdrop, lighting up the castle and the streets below it. People could be seem moving about, just specks in the distance, but it was the palace that caught Tony's attention, that always caught his attention.

"Palace looks pretty amazing, huh?" he said with a wistfulness of his own.

"It's wonderful, I'm sure," Steve's voice went a bit toneless, and he sat on the edge next to Tony.

"I wonder what it'd be like to live there, y'know? Have servants, valets…"

"Oh, sure," it was hard to miss the troubled look on Steve's face, and Tony resisted the urge to hug him, "People who order you around, tell you what to wear and how to act and where to go."

"It's better than here, though," Tony pointed out, "Always just scraping by, barely enough food to live on."

"At least you're free to make your own choices," Steve gave a sad smile.

"It seems like it," Tony stood up, leaned against the wall and looking out at the palace, "But most of the time I just feel…"

"Trapped," they finished together, exchanging a look.

For a long moment, that look stretched between them, electric. Jeez, he barely even knew guy, not much but his name, and Tony had never in his life wanted to kiss someone more.

"So, uh," he bit his lip, grabbing one of the apples from Dummy that they'd scrounged earlier, showing off with a little trick he knew, rolling the apple over his shoulder, down until he could pop it over to Steve with his elbow, "Where're you from?"

"What does it matter?" Steve caught the apple with a surprised look at Tony's trick, then looked down at the apple with barely concealed anger, "I ran away, and I am  _never_  going back."

"Really?" Tony could see the fury eating away at him, and he joined Steve sitting on the edge again. He ignored the voice in his head telling to be careful, and sat close enough that he could feel Steve's thigh warm against his own, could bump shoulders with the other man, "How come?"

"I'm supposed to be getting married in a week," Steve sighed. Tony flushed bright red, carefully moving away, but Steve stopped him with a hand on his arm and an equally embarrassed look, "No, you don't have to…I…it was arranged. Forced."

"Oh."

"I didn't want to marry her any more than she wanted to marry me."

"I find  _that_ hard to believe," Tony snorted, then wanted to swallow his own tongue in mortification, "I mean, uh. You're. Um."

Steve didn't seem like he was going to interrupt and save him, so Tony steeled his nerves and finished the sentence.

"Amazing."

Steve was looked at him again, shy and grateful and curious all at once, and Tony tilted his head up just a bit. Steve leaned in too, Tony  _knew_ he did, but then Dummy snatched the apple from Steve's hands, startling them both.

"Dummy! I swear, I'm going to fry you one of these days!" Tony snapped, chasing after the monkey, "You give him the apple back or I'll sell you on the black market!"

The monkey chattered away back at him, indignant.

"Don't you sass me!"

"What's he saying?" Steve chuckled, playing along.

"He, uh," Dummy was making faces at Steve now, clearly not liking the newest addition, "He's saying he agrees. He thinks you're very awesome."

Dummy made a disgusted face before scampering off to a different corner of the cave to get away from them.

"Oh did he?" Steve just smiled, amused, "And does 'Dummy' have anything else to say?"

"He…he says that if it were him…" Tony leaned in, just a hair away from Steve now. Their noses bumped lightly as Tony tilted his head, their lips almost brushing. He dared to raise a hand, cup Steve's cheek, "He wouldn't have to think twice."

Then the cave was full of guards, Romanov leading the pack.

"They're after me!" Tony and Steve exclaimed at the same time, leaping up and unfortunately away. They turned to each other in surprise, "They're after  _you?_ "

"Nick must have sent them-" Steve growled, but Tony was already hopping up to the edge of the cave, holding out a hand.

"Do you trust me?"

"What?"

" _Do you trust me?"_

Steve didn't say anything, just took Tony's hand firmly in answer. Tony pulled him forward, wrapping one arm around Steve's waist and leaping off the edge. It was a long fall, but they fell through an old barn's roof and landed in hay, just like Tony had known they would. He helped Steve up, only to turn around and bump into Coulson. Damn it, the others back in the cave must've been a trick-

"We just keep running into each other, don't we?" Coulson smirked, grabbing Tony by the shirtfront and lifting him off his feet.

Then Dummy landed on Coulson's head, pulling his turban down. Tony took the chance to elbow him in the stomach, grab Steve and shove him away, off in a different direction out the back.

"Go, run!"

More guards were converging now through the front; Tony was well and trapped and he knew it. There were more than he could hope to compete with, and Hill took particular pleasure in yanking his hands behind his back.

"Let him go!"

What was that he  _doing?_ Instead of running like Tony had told him to, Steve was staying firmly put, ordering Coulson around like it would help any.

Coulson ignored him completely, pushing him back and telling him to keep out of business that didn't concern him.

"Unhand him," Steve growled, his voice going low and commanding, "By order of the Prince."

What?

The guards all knelt reflexively, the two struggling to keep a hold of Tony shoving his head down in respect as well.

"Prince Steven!" Coulson exclaimed in surprise.

_What?_

"Prince…?" Tony was aware he was gaping, but wasn't particularly inclined to stop.

"What are you doing outside the palace? And with  _him?_ " Coulson questioned, and Steve— _Prince Steven—_ planted his hands on his hips.

"That's none of your concern, I ordered you to release him!"

"I'm sorry, Prince, but my orders come from Advisor Barton…I'm afraid you must take it up with him."

"But you can't just take him-!"

"Hill, Sitwell, you'll escort the Prince back to the palace," Coulson ordered.

"No, I'll go with you-"

"Prince, you really shouldn't be seen with such a low-life," Hill snarled, directing the comment more to Tony than Steve, "Come with us."

"He is  _not_ a low-life, unhand me," Steve shrugged out of Hill's grip, "Tony, I'm sorry-"

But the guards were already dragging Tony away, and the last thing he saw of Steve was a look of regret and an outstretched hand. Tony probably should have struggled more than he did, but he was still trying to wrap his mind around it all.

_Holy fuck, I just tried to kiss a Prince._

* * *

"Clint!" Steve burst into Clint's chambers, all fire and irritation.

"Ah, Prince Steven," Clint spun to greet him, "It is so good to see you've been returned to us safely. However may I be of service?"

"The guards just arrested a man named Tony, on your orders," Steve demanded, "Why?"

"Well," Clint looked a bit taken aback, "He kidnapped the Prince. Did you think we would let his crime go unpunished?"

"He didn't kidnap me!" Steve threw his hands up in frustration, "I ran away! He didn't even help me, we only met in the marketplace!"

"Oh my," Clint raised a hand to his mouth in shock, "How frightfully upsetting. Had I only known…"

"What does that mean?" Steve froze, something about Clint's tone of voice scaring him.

"I'm afraid the boy's sentence has already been carried out."

"What sentence?" there was nothing but ice in Steve's veins now, because he knew, he  _knew_ what Clint was going to say.

"We beheaded him just a few moments ago."

Steve's knees gave out.

"How…how  _could_ you? You didn't even ask me if I was kidnapped, did you even ask  _him?"_ Steve's breath came in short, harried gasps, "He wouldn't kidnap me, wouldn't kidnap anyone!"

"Well, you can't really say that, you hardly knew the boy-"

" _Yes I did!"_

Steve was shouting, upset now, and he knew that okay, rationally he may not have known Tony particularly well, that they'd only spent the day together. But fuck Clint, fuck everyone, it had been a long day, a wonderful day, a  _perfect_ day, one day outside of this stupid palace and the obnoxious rules and the pompous arrogance and everyone only ever doing what they thought they had to do.

He'd had one, free day, and it had been with Tony. Tony, who was flirtatious and nervous around him at the same time, who talked to his monkey like it was a little person, who was charming and clever and handsome and everything Steve had ever dreamed of.

Tony, who was dead because of him.

Steve stormed out of the room, because there wasn't a chance in hell Clint was going to see him cry. He ended up out in the pavilion, and he collapsed against the fountain. Bucky came out to nuzzle a fuzzy cheek against his hand, and Steve stroked him absent-mindedly, looking up at the stars.

He remembered how Tony had talked about his view, so proud and wistful.

"Steve? What are you doing alone out here?"

It was Nick approaching him, and Bucky startled to grumble protectively before Steve waved a hand.

"It's alright, Buck."

"Have you been…?" Nick didn't finish the sentence.

In Steve's experience, Nick had never been a particularly emotional man when that emotion wasn't anger. It wasn't that he didn't care, Steve had been his ward long enough to know that he did in his own way, he just wasn't particularly comfortable with certain things.

They had more of a friendship than a father-son type relationship, since Steve had been sixteen by the time he was fully under Nick's care, old enough to have his own mind and his own opinions, often very, radically different than Nick's. In spite of this semi-friendship, he'd never revealed his sexuality to Nick, all too sure of what he would think.

He'd never cried in front of him either though, so he supposed it was a day for firsts.

"Clint had Tony killed."

"Tony?"

"I met him in the market, I…Nick, I…I really liked him."

"You…?"

Steve could pinpoint the exact moment Nick got it.

"Well, fuck."

"I'm sorry, I know should have said something, I just, you kept trying to marry me off to all those princesses and I was so afraid of what you'd say so I convinced myself maybe I just had to meet the  _right_ woman but then I met Tony instead and I know I'm never going to feel around women the way I felt around Tony and then Clint had him  _ki-"_ Steve's voice betrayed him, ending in a choking, dismayed sound that under other circumstances he might've cared about, but couldn't bring himself to.

Bucky curled around him protectively; Nick sat in silence.

He was a mess for a long time, longer than Steve cared to think about, but when he did finally pulled himself together, Nick was still there. Reserved, careful not to touch Steve—Nick had never been the huggy, comforting type—but still there.

"Before you moved in," Nick said at last, "I was prepared for a lot. I hadn't dealt with teenagers since King Howard. He was my best friend, you know, and he spent our teen years—and twenties, and thirties—chasing tail. If there was a woman in the room, he couldn't take his eyes off her, and he was such a charmer. Could talk a woman into anything. I guess I expected the same from you."

"I'm so sorry—"

"Quit apologizing," a strong hand landed gruffly on his shoulder, "It's not something you can help. I should've known, signs were all there."

"Signs?"

"Kid, I don't think I've ever seen you give a woman a second glance," Nick chuckled, "Chalked it up to shyness, but I should've known no one that 'shy' could've gone head to head with me over politics so many damn times."

"Sorry."

"What'd I say about apologies?" Nick squeezed his shoulder once before releasing, "Keep em. I can't bring that guy back, but next time-"

It was the wrong thing to say. It stung, dug into Steve's chest like a hot needle and he flinched visibly. Nick seemed to realize his mistake, and tried to correct himself.

"In the future. Long time, after you get over—I mean, not get over, I don't mean to say that it's easy, just. After some times passes, when you find someone else, just, tell me, alright?"

None of what he said was making it any better.

* * *

"He was the  _prince,_ " Tony muttered to himself, letting his head fall back against the stone wall, "Of fucking course. God damn it, I must have sounded so fucking  _stupid_ to him. Christ on cracker, Tony, you fucking idiot."

He was still muttering to himself, chained to the wall deep beneath the palace, when there was a familiar screeching sound from the dungeon's only window.

"Dummy!" Tony brightened, rattling his chains, "Hey, down here!"

Dummy scrambled down the wall, then when he landed, he gave Tony a knowing, I-told-you-so look.

"What?"

Dummy batted his eyelashes.

"Is that supposed to be Steve? He's not a woma—okay, to be fair, he does have really long eyelashes, like, unfairly long, I mea—"

Dummy shot him a sour look.

"Relax, idiot. It's not like I'm ever seeing him again. He's a prince, remember? Princes marry princesses. Princes…deserve to marry princesses," Tony sighed, letting his hands fall to his lap as Dummy finished picking the lock holding them up. He fiddled with his hands a minute, remembering the feel of Steve's in them, then, "What the fuck ever, it's not like I care. I'm just some fool street rat, right? Let's just get out of here already, I want this day to fucking over."

"You're only a fool if you give up, boy."

The voice echoed through the dungeons, and Tony saw an old, hunched over man with a walking stick come out from around the corner.

"I am but a lowly prisoner, but perhaps together we could be more. There is a cave, the 'Cave of Wonders'…it is filled with treasures beyond your wildest dreams. Treasure enough, I'd wager, to impress even your prince," the old man wagged a finger, and Tony raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"The law says only royalty can marry the prince."

"You've heard of the golden rule, have you not?" the old man chuckled, "Whoever has the gold makes the rules?"

"So why share with me?" Tony narrowed his eyes.

"I need a young pair of legs and a strong back to haul it out," the man tapped each with his cane.

"You got a way out then? Cause if it's out there and we're in here, I'm sensing a problem."

"Things are rarely all they seem, boy," the old man merely chided, tapping his cane in a pattern on the wall.

When he finished, a section of the wall pushed in and to the side, revealing a passageway. The old man outstretched a hand to shake in bargain, and Tony shrugged. Steve was out of reach, and he was broke and thrown in prison.

It's not like he had any other plans for the week.

He and the old man escaped out the tunnels. They stole a couple horses from the royal stables and set off into the desert, the old man leading the way. The sun had almost set and the dunes were storming when they finally arrived. The old man pieced together some gold, beetle-looking thing, and it came alive only to dive and burrow into the sand.

Tony was temporarily unimpressed, until a colossal tiger's head formed out of the sand, the gold beetle pieces becoming eyes. The tiger opened it's jaws, revealing a golden light and stairs down the back of it's throat.

 _That_ wasn't terrifying or anything.

"Who disturbs my slumber?"

"Uh," Tony stuttered, because, hey,  _huge motherfucking tiger made of sand,_ "Tony."

"Proceed," the tiger said at last, "Touch nothing but the lamp."

The tiger's voice was a low grumble now, and he opened his jaws wider to encourage passage. It still wasn't exactly "encouraging", but Tony cautiously stepped forward anyway. Dummy hid in his shirt, teeth chattering, and Tony patted his head.

"C'mon, Dummy. Just think of it as an adventure."

Dummy screeched indignantly.

"A really, really terrifying adventure."

In spite of outwards appearances, inside it really did look like a cave. The walls seemed to be as stone as any Tony had seen, and it's depths were massive. Gold and jewels and treasure of all kinds was _everywhere,_ wall to wall, piles almost as deep as the cave itself.

"Hands to yourself, Dummy," Tony warned, "Nothing but the lamp, he said."

They wandered further into the cave, Tony observing with wonder but careful not to touch, right up until Dummy tackled him from behind.

"Dummy, I swear, I'm going to make you into a monkey hot dog one of these days-"

Dummy just jumped and screeched and pointed until Tony gave in and looked where he was pointing. It was some stupid carpe-

_Holy shit it was moving._

"A magic carpet," Tony breathed, careful not to spook it.

What was his  _life?_ Yesterday, he'd been running around the streets, stealing food and dodging guards. He spent today with a prince, almost kissed said prince, got thrown in jail for it, walked into a magic-Tiger-mouth-cave, and now he was looking at a magic carpet.

What a freaking day.

"C'mere," he gestured to the carpet.

The carpet picked up Dummy's hat with it's tassels. It fumbled with it a few times, dropping it and picking it back up before managing to hand it to Dummy, who just stuck out his tongue. Tony swatted Dummy, then patted the carpet on the head—well, uh, top, but it seemed kind of like the head-ish area.

"C'mon, Butterfingers," Tony teased, "Wanna help us find a lamp?"

The carpet looked ecstatic, at the name or the question Tony wasn't sure, before making a nodding sort of motion.

"You know where it is? Will you show us?"

Then the carpet was off down a side hallway, Tony and Dummy hot on it's tail. The carpet led them deep into the cavernous depths, into a large room with a lake, a row of stones the only way across. Tony jumped nimbly across, then climbed the stairs to reach the top.

The lamp, golden and smooth, sat above it all.

"This is it?" Tony was decidedly unimpressed, "This is what we came all this way to—Dummy  _no-!"_

But Dummy was already grabbing a huge, magnificent, and completely forbidden ruby.

The cave began to collapse immediately. The stairs under Tony's feet turned smooth, and he struggled to hold onto the lamp as he slid down, tripping and tumbling all the way. Rocks reigned down from overhead as the treasure melted into a golden, fiery lava. Their saving grace was Butterfingers, who swooped in and caught him and Dummy before the lava melted them both.

They plunged and swerved through the cave while aboveground the tiger roared, it's cries audible even below. They almost made it out, but at the last moment, a rock caught Butterfingers and trapped him below. Tony managed to grab onto the edge of the cave just before the carpet fell, and he swung there perilously.

"Help me up!" he called to the old man.

"Give me the lamp, first!"

"I can't hold on, just help me up and I'll give you the stupid fucking lamp!"

"Lamp first!"

Tony knew all too well the look in the man's eyes; the second he tossed the lamp, the man would get rid of him. He ignored the man altogether and scrambled to get up on his own instead. He slipped and careened backwards, bouncing off the edges of the cave, until, at the very last second, Butterfingers dislodged itself from the rock and swooped to catch him.

Everything in his body ached, his head was ready to explode, and the mouth of the cave had closed, but…he was alive, at least. Tony rubbed at his head, pain in every motion.

"We're trapped," he groaned, "Great. My day just keeps getting better and better. Two-faced son of a bitch. At least he didn't get the lamp he wanted."

Tony pulled it out, examining it. He turned it over in his hands, but no matter how he looked at it, it still looked pretty worthless. Junk, really. Sure, it was kind of shiny in the right light, but it was thin and pretty beat up, old as all hell. There was something written on the side, but it was hard to make out through the layer of grime.

So Tony rubbed the grime off.

The lamp moved in his hands, wiggled and jerking around until there was a huge explosion of fireworks shooting out the spout, a cloud of green and purple smoke erupting into a huge, puffy form.

A  _genie._

"Oi," the genie complained, stretching and cracking it's back, "Ten thousand years gives you a crick in the neck like you wouldn't believe."

"Are you a  _genie?"_

"Yes, yes, magical, ageless being, now enslaved to little old you, you get your standard three wishes, I get shoved in there for another ten thousand years, it's all fun and games. Well, until you piss me off," the genie bent over, as if confiding something, "Don't piss me off, trust me."

"Okay?"

"But hey, let's talk about you. Got a name?"

"Uh, Tony."

"Bruce," the genie introduced himself, and at Tony's look, "What, you didn't think we all just called ourselves 'genie', did you?"

"I must've hit my head harder than I thought," Tony blinked widely, unwilling to process what was in front of him.

"I could take a look," the genie shrunk down to his size, poking and prodding at Tony's face, looking at his eyes, the back of his head, "Used to be a doctor, before the curse."

"Curse?"

"You think I was born all big green and smoky?"

"I really haven't had time to process the fact that this is  _happening,_ actually."

"I had a temper, back in the day. Last time I got angry I hurt someone very badly. Their father didn't take too kindly to it, so he cursed me to spend eternity serving other people's whims, to teach me humility, patience," Bruce told him as he waved a finger between Tony's eyes, watched his pupils follow it, "You're fine, no concussion."

"Are you sure? Cause I'm hallucinating a giant green genie doctor," Tony raised an eyebrow skeptically, "That sounds like a head injury to me."

"Relax, kid, don't be so cynical. You get three wishes, probably a dream come true, right?"

"I guess…"

"Ix-nay on the wishing for more wishes though. So, master, what'll it be?"

"Master?"

"I don't think you're understanding what you've got here," Bruce started to grow again, waving a hand the made Tony float over to sit down on a rock, "Why don't you sit down while I illuminate the possibilities. Things is, you've got a new trick up your sleeve."

The scene changed before Tony's eyes—forty men with swords advanced on him, and just when he thought they were going to slice his neck, big green arms appearing out of his sleeves and beat them all away.

"You've got  _power_ in your corner now."

The cave melted away into boxing ring, Bruce human sized again and rubbing his shoulders like a training coach, boxing gloves appearing on Tony's hands. Bruce shoved Tony forward into the ring, where he appeared to be fighting…Bruce? Tony turned around, but Bruce-the-trainer was gone, and Bruce-the-fighter jabbed forward. Then Bruce was his gloves, and they jabbed forward on their own, knocking Bruce-the-fighter out while another Bruce, this one dressed as a referee, rang the bell.

"TKO! You've got punch and pizazz the second you rub that lamp; just think about it, Tony! You've never had a friend like me, trust me—think of the possibilities."

The scene changed around Tony too fast to keep track of—restaurants with Bruce as the server, sultry women swirling their hips, a tap-dancing firecracker, Bruce juggling his own head—but Bruce just kept talking, kept waving his hands like it was nothing.

"Don't just sit there all buggy-eyed, I'm here to help you, that's my purpose. So," Bruce declared, bringing it all to a screeching halt, letting it all disappear with a poof, leaving them back alone in the dark, dank cave, "What'll it be, master?"

"Any…any three wishes I want?" Tony tried to catch his breath from the whole thing.

"A couple provisos; I can't kill anyone. Defeats the purpose of the learning-to-control-my-anger shtick, y'know? Rule number two, can't make anyone fall in love with you, you know how it goes, forced love isn't love, defeats the purpose-"

"I've heard," Tony thoughts drifted back to Steve, being forced to marry some princess he didn't even like.

"Can't raise the dead, either."

"No?" Tony's hope fell a bit. Yinsen had raised him, been all but a father to him, if there had been any way to bring him back…

"No. It's creepy, not pretty picture, and I don't like doing it."

"Limitations, huh?" Tony turned to Dummy, a plan forming in his mind. No sense wasting a wish just to get out of the cave… "Limitations on wishes? Guess he's not really  _all-_ powerful, Dummy. Can't even bring people back from the dead. Probably can't even get us out of this cave. Looks like we're going to have to-"

"Ex _cuse_ me?" Bruce stomped a giant foot in front of Tony, stopped him short, "Did you rub my lamp, wake me up, bring me here, and all of a sudden you're walking out on me? I don't  _think_ so."

In a flash, Bruce was shrinking to his size, shoving him onto the magic carpet and steering them up into the air. They were encased in a light green glow as they shot towards the top of the cave, and they blew through solid rock like it was water. As they soared into the sky, Tony's hopes soared as well, and he threw his hands into the air triumphantly.

With a genie on his side…maybe he had a chance with Steve after all.


	4. Chapter 4

"Barton, what in the hell did you think you were doing? Executing someone without so much as a word to me? I should fire your ass!" Nick stormed right into Loki's quarters without so much as a knock.

His ward had done much the same earlier that day, and usually Loki took such things in easy stride. They did own the palace, after all. However, Loki had just returned from yet another unsuccessful attempt to get his hands on the genie's lamp; he was not in a particularly humorous mood.

"I apologize," Loki grit his teeth, maintaining his façade as advisor even under the stress of failure, "I thought he had kidnapped the prince, in which case swift justice would be crucial."

"If it weren't for your two decades of service, I'd have  _your_ head!" Nick roared, then, seeming to pull back into himself with a muted groan, "This is so not my night."

"You're telling me," Loki muttered.

"I'm sorry," Nick growled, "Do  _you_ have a sobbing gay prince in your courtyard that you have to marry off in a week in spite of the fact that _his first and only boyfriend was just beheaded?_  No? Didn't think so!"

"I apologize—"

"Everyone and their fucking apologies!" Nick threw his hands up, "I don't want apologies. I don't care about your damn apologies. You know what? It's your head on the line. I may care about twenty years of service, but the second Steve gets on that throne, the man who killed his boyfriend is gonna be the first to go."

Then Nick was storming out again, mumbling about 'sobbing gay princes' and 'fuck my fucking life', but Loki was frozen.

He hadn't considered that.

It was true; Steve had never had a particular soft spot for him, but before this, he probably would have kept him on purely for the fact that there was no reason to dispose of him. After this…

"You're fucked," Clint snorted, swooping low to land on Loki's shoulder.

"Silence," Loki hissed.

"Seriously, you just killed his boyfriend, he's going to chop your head off and hang it in his fucking bedroom-"

"I said silence!"

"Wow, I didn't know your voice hit that pitch-"

"Brat," Loki snarled, batting Clint off his shoulder with a hand, "Need I remind you, that should I die, you shall spend your life as this filthy, feathered creature?"

"Okay," Clint bobbed his head, then stretched his wings in thought, "Okay, we need a plan. Plan, plan…what if  _you_ became king instead?"

"What?"

"Well, Steve's gotta marry, right?"

"Are you suggesting I make him fall in love with me? Have you hit your head recently?" Loki sneered, "The man wants me dead, not in his bed."

"Who cares? Just use that mind-control staff thing you've got, convince Nick to marry you to Steve, convince Steve he's in love with you, bing bang boom, you'll be King Loki in no time. Well, King Clint. Which is totally not fair, by the way, my  _face_ gets to be King and I don't?"

"You know, you're rather devious, when you apply yourself," Loki mused, "Almost useful."

"Good to know you've kept me as a bird for twenty years so I could be 'almost useful', really, that's just fucking grand."

* * *

"How's that for some all-powerful genie magic?" Bruce said as they touched down just outside of the Midgard walls.

"Pretty snazzy," Tony grinned, "Now, about my three wishes—"

"Ah, three? Nice try, pretty boy, but you're down to two."

"Ah ah ah," Tony smirked, "I never actually wished for you to take us out of that cave."

Bruce paused. He seemed to think it over, then,

"Huh. Damn it. Alright, but no more freebies, you."

"Fair deal," Tony accepted, "So…three wishes, huh? What would  _you_ wish for, Bruce?"

"Me?" Bruce raised his eyebrows in surprise, "No one's…no one's ever asked that before."

"C'mon, out with it," Tony elbowed him, his elbow passing right through the genie.

"Well…I'd like to be human again. But the only way I get out of this is if my master wishes it, and, well, you can imagine how often  _that_ happens."

"I'll do it."

"Yeah, right. Thanks for trying to make me feel better, but—"

"Nah, I mean it. There's only one thing I want. I'll save the other wish for a rainy day, then use my third to set you free," Tony extended a hand, "Deal?"

"Well," Bruce looked at him, then his hand, then back at Tony hopefully as he shook it, "Here's hoping. So what's the one thing?"

"Uh," Tony scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, trying not to blush too badly.

He apparently didn't need to say it.

"Uh oh. I told you kid, I can't make anyone fall in love with you—"

"No, no," Tony quickly amended, "You don't have to make him love me, just…you just have to help me prove I'm worthy of him. He's...he's so amazing."

"A looker, huh?" Bruce chuckled knowingly.

"Breath-taking," Tony leaned back against a palm tree with a sigh, "But that's not…that's not  _why,_ y'know? He's so smart, and funny, and he's got such a sense of…adventure, like he just wants to get out and see the world, like everything's fascinating and wonderful. And when I'm with him, it  _does_ feel wonderful, y'know? He makes it wonderful. And he's got these eyes, it's like…like I look at him and I can see the stars."

"Ah, love," the genie sighed.

"The minute I saw him, I just…I  _knew,"_ Tony insisted, then sighed again, "But he's the prince. To even qualify, I'd have to be a…princess…"

"…uh, you sure you want to go there?" Bruce looked at him skeptically, "Your wish is my command and all, but gender-swapping is maybe something you ought to take some time and think through—"

"No!" Tony said quickly, "I don't wanna be a chick, and I don't think I have to be. I just have to be  _royalty._  Can you make me a prince?"

"Can you say the magic words?" Bruce grinned.

* * *

"I don't want to be in the same room as him right now," Steve snarled, "He should be beheaded himself for what he's done—"

"You don't mean that, and you know it," Nick sighed, "It's awful, it really is, but it was a mistake. Regardless—"

"Prince Steven!" Thor clapped Steve on the back hard enough to rock him forward, "I myself was most displeased with Clinton's actions when I heard of your woe, but beheading is perhaps too harsh a crime, is it not?"

"That's exactly the point!" Steve threw his hands up, "It  _was_ too harsh! It was too harsh and too quick and entirely suspect!"

"Are you accusing him o—?"

"What is that noise?" Thor interrupted, perking his head up at the sound of music, "Have you more princesses to come?"

"No," Nick answered quickly with a glance to Steve, who was looking sullen and put out, "Really. I told you, you ran through them. I've been looking into if any of our allied kingdoms have a prince that shares your…preferences, but so far I haven't heard back—"

"Such joyous music, there simply must be something," and then Prince Thor was out of his seat in Steve's room and going to the balcony to watch.

Steve sighed and followed. Prince Thor was odd; he was a few decades older than Steve, yet he found such delight in simple things. He was a battle-hardened warrior, but he preferred fantastical adventure to actual bloodshed if he could help it.

Steve thought Tony would've liked him a lot.

He winced.

They watched the parade below together; something about a Prince Anton. There were swordsmen and firedancers and guards in spades, all leading an enormous elephant through the crowd. Atop the elephant there was a canopied seat, where a young man sat, around Steve's own age, maybe a bit younger. He had a wide grin on his face, and he clearly delighted in showing off.

"Make way for Prince Anton!"

Then they were singing about making way, showing respect, about how fantastic this Prince Anton was, and Steve just tuned it out while Thor bobbed along to the catchy tune happily. Nick, thankfully, seemed just as unimpressed as he was. Steve did manage to tune back in for the part where the Prince slid down his elephant's trunk, balancing perfectly as he lofted three men above his head in an astounding display of strength; he wasn't  _blind,_ after all.

But still.

He was just another show-off. He was flexing his almost laughably huge muscles for the crowd now, looking at his muscles like he'd never seen them before in his life. Vain, obviously. Steve rolled his eyes as Anton winked and blew kisses to the crowd. Thor was still tapping along to the—admittedly, catchy—song, and once the Prince started throwing around gold coins, he'd caught Nick's attention as well.

Great.

Prince Thor all but ran to the door to greet him in excitement. Nick followed, interest piqued, and it was only Steve who trudged behind like he was being dragged. Clint slunk in after them to see the new arrival, and for a moment, Steve was distracted from Prince Show-Off by the resurgence of his seething anger for Clint.

So distracted, he almost missed the part where the guy flew in on a magic carpet.

"Your majesty," Prince Anton dismounted the carpet with grace, dropping immediately to one knee, "I have journeyed from afar to seek your ward's hand in marriage."

Ex _cuse_ him—

"Pleased to meet you. Prince Anton, was it?" Nick only just managed to shake his hand before Prince Thor burst between them, practically vibrating with excitement.

"Prince Anton, such a jubilant and festive entrance! I am Prince Thor, I am not of Midgard but Asgard, though I am most delighted to make your acquaintance regardless!" Prince Thor pumped Prince Anton's hand exuberantly, "This is the Prince Steven, he is most delighted as well!"

"He doesn't, um," Prince Anton seemed to lose all the confident air under his wings the moment he saw Steve's probably very clearly un-delighted face, and Steve very briefly felt a bit bad, "Look too…delighted."

"There has been a grievous transgression upon Prince Steven's honor as of late, but such things are not of concern to yourself! Come, let me inspect your carpet of magic, I have not seen such a wonder in all my years!"

"Prince Thor," Nick coughed, belatedly trying to remind Thor that this was not, in fact, his palace and he wasn't the one in charge.

"If it would please King Nick," Thor looked a bit abashed, though he mostly just looked eager to play with the carpet.

"You don't mind if he plays with your, uh…carpet thing, do you?" Nick asked Prince Anton.

"Yeah, uh, Prince Thor, go right ahead, Butterfingers loves to play. I'll just talk to King Nick and my prince."

"I am not  _your_ prince," Steve muttered.

It was a bit rude, but he didn't like the way he said it, too familiar, too affectionate. He said it like he was teasing Steve about something, but they hadn't even properly met, he had no right to go around teasing him.

Had no right to sound so much like Tony it  _hurt._

"Right, of course you're not," Prince Anton stuttered, correcting himself quickly, "I just, I meant… _the_ prince, of, y'know, here. That's…I didn't mean it to sound forward."

Prince Anton winced, and Steve was beginning to feel worse and worse for taking things out on him. The man clearly wasn't as confident as he was portraying himself…but that didn't mean Steve wanted to  _marry_ him.

Then Prince Thor was hopping on the carpet, on "Butterfingers", as Prince Anton had called it, and soaring off through the palace. He whooped and hollered loudly, and they had to raise their voices to be heard over him.

"Where exactly did you say you were from?" Clint assessed Prince Anton shrewdly, and Steve couldn't resist a jab.

"Right, we'd better get his address so we can send our condolences when you behead him."

" _What?"_ Prince Anton's eyes widened, while Nick rolled his eyes and Clint shot him a dark, distasteful look.

"I meant only so we might know his heritage—" Clint tried to correct Steve.

"Proof enough for you?" Prince Anton pulled out two heaping bags of gold out from under his cape, and Steve resisted the urge to groan; he could all but see the dollar signs in Nick's eyes.

"Well, Prince Anton, you are most certainly a very welcome guest," was all Nick said as he accepted the gold, but he looked ready to sign their marriage contract then and there.

"Sire, are you certain you trust him?" Clint muttered to Nick, who waved him off.

"Of course I am. Steve will like him, certainly."

"And I'm quite sure I like Prince Steve," Anton offered.

"I must protest," Clint insisted, "This boy is no different than the others. What makes him think he's worthy of Midgard's prince?"

"I'm a prince myself," Anton insisted, "A few minutes alone and I can certainly win him over-"

"How  _dare_ you?" Steve snapped at him, stepping forward and reminding them all of his presence, "All of you! Standing around, deciding my future like I'm some prize to be handed out to the prince with the most money and arrogance?"

"I didn't mean it like that, I just-" Anton was fumbling now, but Steve was on a roll, and he stomped forward to jab a finger in Anton's chest.

"Well who says I want a thing to do with  _you,_ huh? All I want is—"

And then, abruptly, Steve stopped.

He  _knew_ those eyes.

The turban might have been pulled down to hide his hair, and to be fair, Steve hadn't really given Anton much of a second look, or even a first one, but this close, there was no mistaking it. The slope of his nose, the line of his jaw, the gold-flecked hazel of his eyes…

_Tony?_

But Anton, Tony, whoever it was, they were backing away quickly, already talking to Nick as fast as they could and speeding away from Steve.

"You know Steve, uh, Prince Steve, Prince Steven, he's right, he's, uh, not a prize to be won, maybe we should give him a little space for a while, yes, that sounds good, space is great, why don't you show me a guest room instead and I can get settled in?"

Steve watched them leave, equal turns incredulous, overjoyed, and very, very confused.

* * *

Oh god, Steve totally almost saw him.

Shit shit shit. Tony paced in the grass below Steve's balcony, tearing off the turban to run his hands through his hair in aggravation. Dummy was trying and failing to eat bananas with his huge elephant hooves, while Bruce and Butterfingers played chess and ignored Tony's rambling.

"I should've  _known_ I couldn't pull off this stupid Prince schtick. Of course he's gonna recognize me! What am I gonna do?"

"Telling the truth is out of the question, of course," Bruce rolled his eyes.

"Well, yeah! It's not like he's gonna want some street rat! I thought he'd of forgotten about me by now, and I could seduce him with my Princely charms!"

"Except you're not  _really_ a Prince," Bruce pointed out.

" _He_ doesn't need to know that!"

"Y'know Tony, I thought the Prince gig was just to fool King Nick," Bruce raised an eyebrow, "You don't really think you could get away with lying to Steve your entire life, do you?"

"I could," Tony protested, "If it meant I got to be with  _him?_ I could do anything."

"Okay, A+ for thought, F for follow-through," Bruce shook his head, "Could you? Maybe. But you  _shouldn't._ You ought to be yourself. _"_

"Why? So he can laugh in my face and reject me and kick me out of his palace? I'm not giving up yet, Bruce!" Tony declared, gesturing for Butterfingers to come to him.

"No, what, that's not—" Bruce tried to say more, but Tony was already flying up to Steve's balcony, "Ohhh boy."

Bruce sighed, transforming into a bumblebee so he could whisper in Tony's ear.

"Bzzt, bzzt, mayday, mayday, repeat, bad idea alert!"

Tony just swatted him aside, landing on the balcony with fake confidence.

"Prince Steven?" he made his voice as deep as he could, "It is I, Prince Anton."

Steve stepped out from behind the curtain. He was dressed like a Prince now, and though Tony had seen it earlier, he still couldn't help but stare. Even in rags Steve had been handsome, but as a Prince…he was breath-taking.

"Have we met before?" Steve questioned, looking at him with something Tony almost thought was hope, "In the marketplace?"

"What?" Tony's voice absolutely did not squeak, "Uh, no, of course not. I have like, servants who go to the market. And stuff. And servants for my servants. Cause, I'm, y'know. A Prince. Why would I go to the market? It couldn't have been me you met."

"No," Steve's expression closed off, something like grief clouding his features as he retreated, "I guess not."

"Wait, no, please come back—"

"Look," grief quickly turned into anger, and the Prince turned to snap at him, "I've no desire to marry you, or any other self-absorbed, stuck-up Prince or Princess or whatever! Why can't you all just leave me alone?"

A large tiger burst forth from behind the curtain, snarling and growling at Tony.

"Holy fucking hell!" Tony shouted, fumbling backwards and almost off the railing, " _Tiger!_ Down, kitty, down. _"_

"That's Bucky," Steve told him curtly, "Bucky, don't bite him, he was just leaving."

"No, I don't want to leave, I wanted to tell you, I mean, you're…you're just, you're so gorgeous, I…just give me a chance, please?"

"Gorgeous, huh," Steve pursed his lips a moment, then seemed to shift. He gave Tony a sly, almost flirtatious look, "I'm rich too, y'know."

"Uh, yeah," Tony didn't really get the non-sequitur, but if it meant Steve would look at him like that, it was  _great._

"A fine prize for any Prince to marry," Steve murmured, sauntering closer.

"Yeah…" Tony coughed, his voice a bit too dreamy to be considered manly, "Uh, right, I mean. A Prince like me."

"Ah yes," Steve's mouth went hard, but then his fingertips were brushing Tony's cheek, and all other thought processes ground to halt, "A Prince like you…"

Then Steve grabbed his turban and yanked it down over his face,

"You and every other pretentious, swaggering asshole who thinks like you," Steve grabbed his cape and swung it over his head and gave him a shove that sent Tony reeling, "You may the first Prince I've met with, but I'll tell you something, oh wonderful Prince Anton, you're certainly not the first conceited, egotistical jackass who's tried to marry me off. Usually it's to their daughter or niece, but congratulations, because this is even worse!"

"No, Stev—Prince Steve, I just, please, let me—" Tony stumbled around, trying to make heads or tails of his cape.

"Just go jump off a balcony, for all I care!" Steve huffed, "I am so sick of everyone trying to push me into marriage! And  _you,_ you have the audacity to come around and try and get in my pants the day after the first person I've ever honestly liked is  _executed?_ What is  _wrong_ with you?"

"I…I'm so sorry," Tony stuttered, because  _jeez,_ what the hell  _was_ wrong with him? "I didn't known about your dead boyfriend, I just, I'm so sorry—"

"We weren't dating," Steve corrected sadly, almost more to himself than to Tony, "I just…I really liked him. You really didn't know?"

"No!" Tony answered quickly, "I never would've done any of this if I'd known, god, you're right, I'm a total ass. I really am sorry, I'll leave."

Tony stepped off the balcony.

" _Wait—!"_

"What?" Tony popped back up, standing on Butterfingers.

"Oh my god," Steve breathed, watching Tony with wide eyes, "I thought you…I told you to go jump off a balcony, I thought I made you…"

"Commit suicide? No, sorry," Tony rubbed the back of his neck.

"Don't say  _sorry,"_ Steve flushed a bit, "I don't want you  _dead,_ I just…I'm sorry I yelled, I just thought, everyone's been so in my face about this marriage thing, and then I got someone executed yesterday, and I haven't even been able to properly  _miss_ him what with everyone trying to marry me off to the highest bidder, and I just…I took that out on you. You're still kind of arrogant, but you're not…as bad as I've been making you out to be."

"If it makes you feel any better," Tony admitted, "I'm actually kind of a total loser. I've just been trying to impress you, and I think I've been doing a pretty shit job."

"Little bit," Steve gave a small smile at that.

"Don't take this the wrong way," Tony cleared his throat, "I don't mean to encroach on your dead-almost-boyfriend's turf or anything, but, um. Would you like to maybe go for a ride? Non-romantic, of course, purely platonic, it's just, I don't know, you don't seem like the sit-around-the-palace type of guy. It's a great way to, y'know. See the sights, and all."

"Is it safe?" Steve peered at Butterfingers.

"Sure," Tony shrugged, leaning down to extend a hand to Steve, "Do you trust me?"

"What?" Steve went pale.

"I said, do you trust me?"

"I knew it," Steve's voice was barely a whisper, and Tony realized belatedly that he'd just given himself away.

"I mean, uh," Tony stuttered, but that was all he got out before Steve was crashing into him, one hand on his waist, the other cupping Tony's face as he pulled him into fiery kiss.

"You  _are_ Tony!" Steve shoved him away after a moment, and Tony's head kind of reeled.

"Uh," was all he managed, brain functions still processing. They'd been kissing, that had been wonderful why weren't they still kissing?

"I knew it! Why did you lie to me? Did you think I was  _stupid?_ That I wouldn't figure it out?"

"No!" Tony quickly protested, "I mean, I hoped you wouldn't, I mean, shit, that's not what I mean, I just—"

"Who are you? Tell me the truth," Steve demanded.

"I…" Tony ducked his head, "I'm Tony. I'm just an orphaned street rat, and I know I don't deserve you, but I thought if I pretended to be a Prince I'd maybe…maybe I'd have a chance to change your mind? I know that's stupid, I just—"

Steve cut him off with a kiss again, softer this time, a bit desperate.

"It's not stupid, Tony," Steve murmured against his lips, "And you don't have to change my mind, I've already made it up."

"But if I'm not a Prince, we can't…"

"I won't tell Nick you're not royalty if you won't," Steve smiled slyly.

"But, you said…" Tony stuttered, still thrown, "Dead-almost-boyfriend? Still grieving? I mean, if kissing me is how you want to grieve I can totally get behind that—"

"I meant  _you_ ," Steve told him, sliding his arms around Tony's waist to hug him close, looking upset just by the thought, "Clint, he said you were…how did you escape?"

"It's a long story, but there was this tunnel, and a cave, and I found this lamp thing," Tony pulled it out of his turban, "It has a genie inside, and he gave me three wishes."

"Very funny, Tony."

"I'm serious! It's how I faked my Princedom," Tony pulled out the lamp and rubbed it, "Bruce, wake up."

"So, did you tell him the—oh. Hey, Prince," Bruce waved, "Good on you, Tony. See, the truth is always best."

"Oh  _wow,"_ Steve blinked widely, marveling at the genie.

"Yeah, he's cool, huh?"

"Don't mind me, just on display," Bruce used genie magic to turn into a display board.

"He's sarcastic a lot," Tony offered, "Ignore him."

"Don't mind me," Bruce kept talking as he shrank smaller and smaller back into the lamp, "I'll just crawl back into my itty bitty living space for the rest of eternity, you know, no big deal or anything…"

"Yeah," Tony grinned, "Sarcastic."

"I can see that," Steve had a similar grin.

"So…that platonic, non-romantic carpet ride I offered? Totally revoked," Tony told him seriously, "The offer is now a full on, star-gazing, fireworks-watching, potential-kissing, one hundred percent bona fide date. Take it or leave it, Princey boy."

"Hm," Steve sidled a bit closer, looping a finger in Tony's robes, "Let me think about it."

Tony leaned in to fill the gap between their lips, waiting just a beat to feel Steve's reaction—thoroughly positive—before throwing his arms around Steve's neck. Steve's hands fell to his hips, pulling him close to nip at his lower lip, slipping his tongue into Tony's mouth.

It was a long few moments before they parted, and when they did, it was just for Steve to rest his forehead against Tony's.

"Convinced?" Tony gave a quirk of a smile.

"Well, if you  _insist_ on showing me the world via a magic flying carpet…" Steve gave him a peck, "I suppose I can get behind that."

"I'd rather you get behind me," Tony leered, and Steve flushed.

"I'm not entirely sure that's a safe maneuver on a flying carpet."

Tony laughed out loud before pulling Steve by the hand up onto Butterfingers, and then they were taking off into the night sky.


	5. Chapter 5

Tony led Steve throughout Midgard and beyond, showing him wonder after wonder. They ducked through archways and skimmed along rivers, soaring up into the clouds high enough Steve thought if he reached out his fingertips might brush the moon. As promised, Tony did indeed show him fireworks, inching closer and closer to him until Steve laughed and pulled Tony right into his lap.

Tony flushed and grouched a bit about not being a prin _cess,_ thanks, but Steve just smiled and kissed him again, mostly because he could. Tony wisely stopped complaining.

They spent the whole night together, exploring and seeing the sights and talking like they'd known each other all their lives. There was a fair share of kissing too, once even while they were still flying, which was the most exhilarating thing Steve had ever experienced.

"Relax," Tony just told him, putting one hand carefully over Steve's eyes, "It's awesome, I promise."

Tony was warm behind him, one arm looped around Steve's waist to hold him close, his other hand over Steve's eyes while Butterfingers soared through the air. Steve, on the other hand, was digging his nails into the hand around his waist, jittery at the complete loss of control.

"It just makes me nervous that I can't see where we're going," Steve bit his lip in worry, "We could be about to hit something and I wouldn't even know—"

"It's only fun if you can relax," Tony murmured, his lips brushing Steve's ear, sending a sudden rush of electricity down his spine.

"Right," Steve swallowed once, nodding his head, whispering mostly to himself, "I trust you."

He took a deep breath. Closed his eyes tight. Carefully released his death grip on the hand Tony had around his waist. Slowly let the knot of worry in his chest loosen a bit, let himself feel nothing but the cool breeze against his outstretched fingertips and the contrasting warmth of Tony's hand on his waist.

Closing his eyes didn't feel like a loss of control anymore, it felt like open air and freedom and  _release._ Tony removed the hand over his eyes, though Steve still didn't open them, letting it fall to Steve's waist instead. Tony steadied him, but didn't cling or try and hold him back; it was the perfect balance.

"Amazing, isn't it?" Tony murmured into his ear again.

"Amazing," Steve repeated breathlessly, opening his eyes to turn in Tony's arms, looking at him properly, " _You're_ amazing."

Tony kissed him, heady with an exhilaration tangible on his lips, and that sweet, impulsive mid-air kiss was easily the single most fantastic thing Steve had ever experienced.

When they finally returned to Steve's balcony, the sun was already beginning to peek above the horizon. Nick was sure to come looking for him within the hour—not to mention, he hadn't even slept yet!—but it was all well worth it. Tony lingered on the balcony a while, neither of them keen on saying goodbye quite yet, until Butterfingers bumped Tony into giving Steve one last kiss, and they bid each other goodnight at last.

"Goodnight, my handsome Prince," Steve teased with a soft smile, and Tony squeezed Steve's hand one last time before letting go, letting Butterfingers fly him away.

* * *

"I've heard nothing of this, this  _Prince Anton_ character," Loki hissed to Clint, pacing in his chambers, a disgruntled look on his face, "From what kingdom does he even hail from? I've studied foreign policy, geography, history—I've never once heard his name!"

"Does it matter? Steve hated him," Clint rolled his eyes.

"True, but I'd much rather have him dealt before I ascend the throne," Loki muttered, almost more to himself than to Clint at this point, "I don't want any nasty surprises."

"Why bother dealing with him at all? Steve sure as hell has no problem chasing off people who want to marry him all on his own."

"I could mind-control some of the guards into getting rid of him, that would do quite nicely…"

"Are you even listening? Trust me, if Steve doesn't like him, that Anton guy'll be running out the door by tomorrow, day after if he's persistent."

"Maria has always been of low moral standing…I could likely convince her of the boy's guilt with my staff…"

"Can you hear me right now? Seriously, remember the princess that called Bucky 'a mangy ball of fur'? Nick had to physically stop Steve from declaring war on her country, much less let her out of the building. You don't have to kill the guy."

"She's quite capable, she could dispatch him easily. Throw the body in the ocean perhaps…what do you think, Barton?"

"I'm sorry, am I allowed to talk now? I thought you just liked listening to the sound of your own voice," Clint snorted.

"I allowed you to keep  _your_  precious voice, you could at least agree with me once a decade," Loki grumbled.

"You want my opinion?" Clint rolled his eyes, "You're being hasty. Steve's gonna chase him away in no time, it's like his secret talent. But if you're so suspicious of the guy, then find out who the hell he is. Use that divining crap you collected to find the diamond in the rough weirdo to find out who this guy is. That magic stuff can be used twice, right?"

"You're always useful when least expected, Barton," a smirk inched it's way across Loki's lips, "Yes…indeed, I can divine his heritage."

The result of his divination was enough to make Loki collapse into the nearest seat.

Clint, on the other hand, burst into laughter.

"It's not funny," Loki snapped.

"Bullshit, that's fucking  _hysterical!_ " Clint disagreed, unable to stop laughing.

"Silence!" Loki growled, "This is all your fault!"

" _My_ fault?"

"You were the one to convince me not to kill the infant all those years ago!"

"Oh, right, cause you were so eager to kill a baby!"

"I would've done what needed doing," Loki curled a lip, "And it seems I should've. If it comes to light that Prince Anthony indeed lives…"

"Does  _he_ know?"

"I think not," Loki mused, "Or he would've simply told King Nick so and taken his place. No, he fakes this…'Prince Anton' identity, I am sure of it. But it is now assured that we must dispose of him ourselves; the boy bears the mark of Stark, we cannot wait for Steve to chase him away. King Nick might see the mark before then, and my ascension to the throne would become all the more difficult."

The mark was a small tattoo, less than an inch across, a circle with an inverted triangle within. It had been inked over the heart of every Stark soon after birth for centuries; it had been of no concern to Loki when selling the child decades ago because this was by no means public knowledge. The only living people who would recognize the mark for what it was would be himself and King Nick.

"Let me guess," Clint sighed, "We're playing Kill The Stark, round two?"

"Indeed we are. Come, we must deal with this at once," Loki gestured for Clint to mount his shoulder, and they swept out of the room.

* * *

Tony floated blissfully back to earth on Butterfingers, lying on his back and looking up at the bright morning sky. He felt happy and free, as if the future was a door thrown wide open and Tony was taking his first step through. He was young and hopelessly in love and he knew it.

And it was  _wonderful._

"Looks like things are finally going my way, Butterfingers," Tony smiled up at Steve's balcony, already looking forward to seeing him again.

Which was when the palace guards snatched him right off the carpet.

Dummy was already gagged and restrained nearby, and they quickly pinned down Butterfingers. Tony fought them as best he could, kicking and thrashing and biting any hand they used to cover his mouth. He managed to knock one in the chin before another sat on his back, gagging him and roughly snapping his arms behind him to shackle his wrists.

The bottom of a long staff slipped under his chin and tilted his head up. Clint, the advisor that had been dubious of him earlier, sneered down at him now.

"You're caused me much trouble, boy," Clint snarled to him, then to the guards, "Flip him over."

They obliged in silence, throwing Tony on his back. Clint bent down, roughly yanking his jacket to the side to examine Tony's chest with shrewd, narrowed eyes. He seemed interested in Tony's tattoo, and his mouth soured when he saw it.

"Well," Clint said eventually, "I suppose I'll feel better about killing a man than an infant. Dispose of him."

Tony wasn't sure what the hell  _that_ was supposed to mean, but it hardly mattered; one of the guards smacked him over the head with something, and everything went dark.

He awoke with a shock of cold. Water rushed into his lungs, and he struggled, panicking blindly. There was a dead weight around his feet and dark saltwater clouding his vision, meaning he'd been dumped in the ocean. He tried to swim upwards, but it was useless. The weight carried him straight to the bottom.

His turban, still carrying Bruce's lamp, sunk slowly behind him. Tony twisted to get a better view; it was his only chance. It landed a few feet from him, and Tony yanked and tugged and dove forward, doing his best to get the weight to  _move._ He fell forward, his fingertips just inches away, as everything started to go hazy.

His vision blurred, his head ached, and Tony closed his eyes.

"Never fails, you get in the tub and there's a rub at the la—Tony?"

There was a voice now, but it was fuzzy and far away.

"Tony, hey, c'mon, wake up buddy, you can't cheat on this one, I need you to wish it—"

The voice was panicked and helpless, but vague. Nothing but a dream in Tony's fogged, distant mind.

"I can't help you without a wish, you've got to help me here, Tony, I know you want me to save you, c'mon, just nod for me little buddy, you can do it!"

Water pulsed in Tony's ears. He couldn't hear the voice anymore, it was too far away now. He was enclosed and suffocating, nothing but darkness for company. Then, he saw the tiniest pinprick of light, and there was a different voice calling to him softly.

_Goodnight, my handsome Prince._

_You're amazing._

_I trust you._

_Who are you? Tell me the truth._

_I knew it, you are Tony!_

_Have we met before? In the marketplace?_

_He is_ not  _a low-life, unhand me—Tony, I'm sorry—_

_Seems you're my hero for the day._

_I'm a fast learner._

_Thank you for helping me back there. What's your name?_

Tony _._

_Steve._

Tony felt himself brush against the light.

_Tony?_

It was the same voice, but suddenly less ethereal. Closer, somehow. It was less comforting this time, and far more panicked.

_Oh my God, Tony! Tony, can you hear me? Tony!_

Then a strong hand slammed down on his chest and Tony reeled, rolling over and expelling the seawater from his lungs. He doubled over, the tang of salt and sting of bile grating against his throat as he threw up.

"Tony," the voice breathed, and Tony knew that voice, recognized it easily as his brain functions came back online. The relief was palpable in Steve's voice, and a hand began rubbing Tony's back while he gasped for air, "Hey, breathe, it's okay, it's gonna be okay."

"Steve," Tony gasped, the first word he managed to say, sweet on his tongue even as he choked on the sudden rush of air, "Steve, I—"

He stopped, too busy coughing up water to finish his sentence.

"Shh, it's okay," Steve just kept rubbing his back, his arms, his shoulders, anything he could. He moved closer to curl around Tony protectively, hold him steady, "You're okay, baby, I've got you, just try and breathe."

"Ba—" Tony coughed again, then managed a shaky smile, "Baby?"

Steve seemed momentarily taken aback, before he burst into abrupt, relieved laughter.

"Yeah," he smiled, squeezing Tony's arm, "Problem with that?"

"No," Tony just shook his head, raising a hand to slick back his still-soaking-wet hair with a grin, "Fuck, no."

"Hate to interrupt," Tony glanced up to see Bruce leaning over him, a wry sort of smile covering an expression of real worry, "But how exactly did you get shackled to a weight at the bottom of the ocean?"

" _What?"_ Steve startled, his grip going a bit tight on Tony's arm, not that he was particularly complaining.

"Clint," Tony sighed, and Steve made an angry, strangled sort of noise.

"What the  _hell_ is his problem with you?!" Steve was clearly pissed, and Tony vaguely remembered Steve mentioning Clint had already told him that Tony was dead once before.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Tony shook his head, "He had the guards ambush me. One of them knocked me out, and I woke up in the water."

"Which is where I found you," Bruce added, "I took your head dropping as a 'yes, Bruce, I wish for you to save my life', so I transported us to Steve's room so he could help you. Sorry, not sorry."

"I'm not sorry either," Steve told him, laying a hand on Bruce's arm earnestly, "I can't thank you enough, Bruce."

"Down to one wish, huh?" Tony nodded, leaning back against Steve's chest and taking a deep breath, accepting this easily, "I can live with that. Literally."

"Did Clint say anything to you?" Steve questioned.

"Yeah," Tony remembered, "He rolled me over to look at my tattoo. When he saw it, he said something about…I don't know, better a man than a baby? It didn't make sense, but I didn't exactly have a whole lot of time to process it before they knocked me out."

"You have a tattoo?"

"That's what you got out of that?"

"No, I just," Steve flushed, "I didn't know."

"Nothing special," Tony turned to face Steve, pulling back his jacket to show Steve the little circle with an upside down triangle, "Don't even remember getting it, I was really young."

"Huh," Steve hummed, running his fingers over it lightly. Tony tried not to shudder too much under the touch. The combination of Steve's hands on his bare skin and the fact that he was still soaking wet and there was a breeze through left him almost shivering, "Where have I seen that before?"

"Don't ask me," Tony shrugged, "Yinsen—I told you about him last night, my adoptive dad?—he said I had it when he found me."

"So your birth parents had it done to you?"

"I…yeah, I guess so."

He'd never thought about it like that before, as a remnant of his lost family. He'd never thought about it much, really; it was small and meaningless and easy to forget about. He'd also never been touched as gently as Steve was touching him now, his fingers tracing the edges of the blue ink with care and fascination.

"If you two are done exploring each other's bodies and all that fun stuff," Bruce coughed, "Maybe we ought to figure out what to do about the person trying to kill Tony?"

"Right," Steve flushed handsomely, quickly removing his hand, "Um."

"Later," Tony assured him with a wolfish sort of grin, earning himself a deeper blush and a small smile in return.

"Later," Steve echoed, and Tony did a mental happy dance. Then Steve steeled himself, standing up and offering a hand to Tony, "Bruce is right. It's time we dealt with Clint."

Steve's eyes went steely, and he spat Clint's name like it was a curse. Tony accepted Steve's hand up, and made note; Steve was adorable when he blushed, but he was sexy as hell when he was pissed.

Oh yeah, Tony was keeping him.

* * *

"D'you think he'll run away again?" Nick slurred to Thor, waving a bottle.

"I think, my friend, that there is much weighing upon your shoulders these days," Thor told him, holding his alcohol much better than Nick, "Do not add trouble where there is none."

They'd been drinking for more than an hour, since Nick heard back from the Jotunheim kingdom to the far north. It had been the last kingdom to reply, and their answer had been the same as the rest; they had no gay royalty. At the very end of his rope, Nick had sought out Thor's company—and his fantastically strong Asgardian booze.

"I'd run away from me," Nick just continued as if Thor hadn't spoken, "Fuckin' hell, I'd run like a motherfucker. All the shit that kid's got on his shoulders? The kingdom's a fuckin' wreck, and I should know. Economy's stable and shit, but the future? Stark line's been slaughtered. His line ends with him, and he can't even take the throne without gettin' married. But a'course he wants to marry a guy, which, I mean, I've been lookin', but gay princes ain't no high fuckin' commodity, y'know? Anton was our only shot, and Steve hates 'im!"

"Indeed," Thor nodded gravely, "Steven has a tough choice in his future."

"Choice?" Nick snorted, "Nah, there ain't no choice. B'tween love and duty, he'd choose love every time."

"Perhaps," Thor mused, "But perhaps there are alternatives. Has he spoken to you about his ideas for changing to a democracy?"

"God," Nick groaned, "That kid and his fucking political activism."

"You must admit, he makes many good points," Thor pointed out, "He has mapped out his vision for the kingdom's future quite well."

"He's an idealist," Nick snorted, then leaned back, really considering it, "But…I s'pose if anyone could manage it, he could. Which, hey, good, cause he's the last of his line, and apparently we're not gettin' any heirs outta that one."

"Are you  _drunk?"_

Nick shot up, fumbling with the bottle in his hand as he did so. Steve was standing in the doorway, mouth open, Prince Anton just behind him. While Steve looked scandalized, Anton, the little jackass, looked positively delighted.

"More importantly, were you just gossiping about Steve?" the brat grinned.

"'s not  _gossip,_ Thor 'n I were just catchin' up. What're you doing hanging about with," Nick gestured loosely at Anton, "That little one, anyway? Thought you were avoidin'im."

"I'm not little!" Anton squawked, "I'm compact!"

"We, uh," Steve shifted, "Worked things out. But more importantly at the moment, we need to find to find Clint and order his execution."

Nick did a double-take, and Thor raised an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry,  _what?"_ Nick wiped his mouth, muttering to Thor, "How much did you let me drink? Now I'm fucking hallucinating-"

"You're not hallucinating, I'm serious!" Steve insisted, "He tried to have Anton killed earlier this morning, had him attacked by the guards and left him to drown in the ocean!"

" _Clint_ did that?"Nick squinted, because, well, jeez, "You're certain?"

Sure, he'd always felt something a little off about the guy, but that was the second time in just a few days he'd ordered someone killed without consulting him. Nick felt himself sobering fast.

"He told the guards to dispose of me right in front of me," Anton rolled his eyes, "I'm pretty certain."

"How did you survive?" Nick questioned Anton.

"Uh—"

"I saw them," Steve interrupted quickly, "And I went in after him, pulled him out of the water. He almost  _died,_ Nick, you have to—"

"Alright, alright," Nick said at last, "I'll go see him, see if I can figure out what's going on here."

"What's going on is that Clint tried to  _kill_ him!" Steve threw his hands up, furious, "Shouldn't that be enough?"

"Settle down a minute," Nick waved a hand, hoping Steve might stop talking quite so loudly, "Yes, yes, you're right, he's wrong, et cetera, but he's advised me for twenty years without incident and I'm going to talk to him first. Why don't you…I don't know, show Anton about a bit if you've warmed up to him, and I'll tell you my decision when I've made it, alright?"

"Fine," Steve stormed out, taking a flustered looking Anton's hand on the way, dragging him along behind him.

Huh. Nick paused a moment, trying to process the shitstorm of new information. Steve had warmed up to Anton at some point. Clint had tried to kill Anton for some as-yet-unknown reason. Gay ward. Evil advisor. Nick shot a glance at an amused Thor, making sure his friend hadn't suddenly turned into a giant purple elephant.

"I got drunk on the wrong morning," Nick muttered, rubbing his forehead.

* * *

"One place you want to see before you die—go."

They were sitting out on Steve's balcony, feet dangling over the edge, fingers entwined.

"Well…Rome, I think, to see the Colosseum. I hear it's  _massive,"_ Steve spread his arms wide, enthusiasm lighting up his face, "Bigger than the palace, even. And it's got all these archways and secret tunnels. It's probably pretty run down these days since no one's using it, but I still think it'd be cool to see. Feel the spirit of all the warriors that once fought for their lives, for honor, for glory…sounds amazing, don't you think?"

"You had me at secret tunnels, babe," Tony grinned, tapping his foot against Steve's.

"And you?"

"Egypt, the Great Pyramid of Giza," Tony answered immediately, "It's one of the Seven Wonders of the World. It used to be 481 feet tall, and was the tallest man-made structure in the world for  _38 centuries._ How's that for cool?"

"Man-made, huh?" Steve teased, "You don't subscribe to the 'aliens built it' theory?"

"Aliens," Tony snorted derisively, "Please. Let me guess, the Norse gods are real, too?"

"Of course not," Steve chuckled, "Don't tell Thor though. I think he's still disappointed his parents named him Thor and he can't control lightning."

"That guy's a riot," Tony grinned, "I like him."

"You just like him because he got Nick drunk," Steve rolled his eyes fondly.

" _And_ because he adored Butterfingers," Tony added.

"Everyone loves Butterfingers," Steve laughed as the carpet swooped towards him enthusiastically, nudging up against his side. He patted it on it's head (top-ish…area?) affectionately.

"Hey, Steve's mine," Tony chastised Butterfingers, "No stealing, you."

"Yes, Tony," Steve said wryly, "I'm leaving you for a carpet."

"Oh, the pain," Tony held the hand that wasn't currently entwined with Steve's to his heart, "How will I ever go on without you?"

"Well," Steve leaned in to kiss his cheek, "Lucky you, you don't have to."

"Lucky me indeed," Tony murmured back, turning to catch Steve's lips instead of his cheek.

"Steven, I have come to a decision."

Both men nearly leapt out of their skin, quickly righting themselves and separating their hands. It was too late though; Nick had clearly seen, since he was only a few feet away. How he'd gotten so close without either of them noticing was strange, but what was stranger was the vacant gaze in Nick's eyes, almost glazed over as he stared somewhere over their shoulders. The strange look in his eyes went unnoticed, however, in light of their embarrassment.

"Maybe you ought to knock, Nick," Steve flushed.

"The law states," Nick went on as if Steve hadn't spoken, "That you must marry by your twenty-first birthday, and I have chosen for you."

"What?" Steve startled, looking up with a confused frown, "What do you mean, you chose? Why?"

"The law states that if you do not choose a husband on your own, the current King shall choose for you. I have chosen Clint."

" _What?"_ Steve was up in an instant, almost knocking himself over the balcony with the force of his surprise. Only Tony's hands flying to his arm kept him steady.

"Are we talking about the same guy who tried to have me killed like an hour ago?" Tony questioned.

"You're joking," Steve insisted, "You  _have_ to be joking."

Nick just shook his head as Clint swept in through the open doors, followed quickly by Prince Thor.

"Advisor Clint, this is madness, Steven will not appreciate you taking such liberties—" Thor was protesting ardently, but Clint waved him off.

"Ah, Prince Steven," Clint greeted, "Seeing as Prince Anton left this morning, King Nick and I thought it best if—"

"I'm sorry, where did I go, exactly? Bottom of the ocean, maybe?" Tony raised an eyebrow with a scowl. Clint caught sight of Tony then, and did a double take.

"How…?"

"Tell them the truth, Clint—you tried to have me killed," Tony accused.

"Nonsense," Clint drawled, moving behind Nick as if he were taking cover, "Pure nonsense, your Highness, he's obviously lying."

" _You're_ the liar!" Steve shouted, charging forward, "I wouldn't marry you in a million years! I have half a mind to kill you myself—!"

Thor intervened just before Steve's fist could collide with Clint's jaw, "I know he has done you grievous wrong, Prince Steven, but you must control yourself—"

"He's tried to have Tony killed  _twice—!"_

"Tony?" Thor queried.

"Anton, Tony, it's a nickname," Tony lied quickly.

"Nick, you should be arresting him, not  _marrying_ me to him!" Steve insisted furiously, struggling to be released from Thor's grip, "He's lying to you!"

"Nonsense," Clint simply told Nick, "Anton is the liar."

"Yes…Anton is the liar," Nick intoned, and that was when Tony saw the serpent's eyes on Clint's staff glow bright blue—the same blue as King Nick's eyes.

"What is  _wrong_ with you, Nick?"Steve snapped, grabbing Nick by the shoulders,.

"I know what's wrong."

Tony snatched the staff from Clint before he could react, slamming it against the tile and effectively shattering the serpent's head. A number of things happened at once; Nick shook his head, his eyes flickering back to their usual brown, and he looked about in confusion. The hawk perched on Clint's shoulder shuddered and fell, molting all its feathers and growing large as it writhed on the floor, rapidly becoming a naked, human-sized…Clint? But the man they knew as Clint was changing as well, his figure becoming less muscular and more lean, his face becoming pale and sharp, his hair turning dark and his eyes green.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

"My dick's back!" the naked man on the floor crowed happily, breaking the silence.

"Brother," Thor's voice was next, nothing but a low, choked whisper.

"Brother?" Tony and Steve repeated as one.

"Adoptive," Thor's brother pursed his lips.

"Guards!" Nick roared the moment he collected his bearings, "Seize the traitor! Take him away!"

Guards burst in through the door grabbing the man by both arms. Thor moved forward, almost as if to stop them, before restraining himself. He had a hand outstretched, and he clenched it instead.

"Ooh, unexpected family reunion," the naked man on the floor winced, then, in a sing-song voice, "Aaawk~waaard."

" _Why,_ brother?" Thor's asked, ignoring the naked man completely, clearly distraught by his brother's sudden reappearance.

"Why not, fool?" the man sneered, "Money, glory, the throne, take your pick."

"I thought you dead," Thor told him, the pain in his voice clear to everyone.

"Did you mourn?" the man just asked mockingly.

"We all did! Our father—"

" _Your_ father," the man corrected, "He did tell you my true parentage, did he not?"

"We were raised together. We played together, we fought together. Do you remember none of that?"

"I remember a shadow, living in the shade of your greatness. I remember you chasing me from my own kingdom, I who was and should be King—"

" _Chasing_ you? You ran, Loki, ran for twenty years and never once sent word that you still breathed. We thought you lost, thought you dead or worse, and you've spent this time playing advisor to another King? For what, his throne?"

"The power I seek,  _brother,"_ the man, Loki, spat, "Is beyond any one throne, is beyond your meager comprehension, and I shall not rest until I have it within my grasp!"

With that, Loki was throwing something in their direction. Steve dove in front of Tony just as the resulting blast knocked them all backwards. When the smoke cleared, Steve was unconscious on Tony's chest, Thor, the closest to Loki, had gone skidding across the room, and everyone was rubbing green powder from their eyes.

"Find him! Search everywhere!" Nick ordered with a bellow to the guards, who quickly collected themselves and went off in chase. Then, with an exasperated sigh in Thor's direction, "You alright?"

"The brother I thought dead lives again," Thor murmured, accepting Nick's hand up, "And seems more bitter than I last recalled. 'Alright' is not how I would describe this moment."

"Steve?" Tony questioned, rubbing at his eyes. Vision clear, he saw the way Steve slumped over him, unmoving, "Steve? Hey, c'mon, that's not funny."

No amount of shaking seemed to get Steve's eyes to open, and Tony began to panic. He sat up properly, pulling Steve into his lap and patting at his face.

"Steve? Steve, baby," Tony pleaded, "Rise and shine, wakey wakey. C'mon sleeping beauty, that's not fair, you can't just save my life and not even let me say thank you, right?"

Steve stirred with a groan, and Tony managed a relieved, lop-sided smile even as he continued babbling.

"There you go, eyes open. Fucking hell, Steve, you can't pull that kind of shit, you're gonna give me a heart attack. None of that heroic stuff, okay? You're supposed to use me as cover, not fucking leap in front of me, what the hell was that about—"

"Didn't think about it," Steve just chuckled, and Tony rolled his eyes.

" _That's_ reassuring. So what, you see things exploding and your first instinct is, 'oh hey, let's see how close I can get without dying'?"

"No," Steve reached up, looping an arm around Tony's neck to drag him into a fierce kiss, releasing him somewhat reluctantly when they both needed air, "I see things exploding and my first instinct is to protect my fiancé."

"Is that a proposal I hear?" Tony grinned, "Hark, the herald angels sing!"

"You're so dramatic," Steve just smiled back dazedly, partially from the explosion, partially just lovestruck and loopy with it, until Nick cleared his throat.

"You seem…fond of each other," Nick chuckled, "Finally found yourself an acceptable suitor then, Steve?"

"Eh," Steve teased, poking Tony in the side, "He'll do."

"Prince Steven!" Thor boomed happily, "So you have found love at long last! Ah, the joys of young love are magical indeed. I am most pleased for you both!"

"How in the hell you convinced Steve to give you a chance, I don't even  _want_ to know," Nick clapped Tony on the back as Tony stood up, almost knocking him right back to the ground, "That's such fantastic news I could kiss you myself, but I think I'll leave that to Steve here."

"I'd appreciate that," Tony nodded quickly, looking a bit pale at the thought.

"And who the fuck are you, anyway?" Nick shot a glare at the naked man currently trying to sneak out the door without being noticed.

The naked guy winced, freezing in place, then turned to give an awkward half-wave with one hand, the other still covering his genitals.

"Hi! Sooo I'm the real Clint Barton and I was a guard here twenty years ago until a lunatic with a glowstick turned me into a hawk and now I feel really stupid because if I'd have known smashing the glowstick would've turned me back I would've done it, like, nineteen years and three hundred and sixty-four days ago."

"Uh," Nick blinked, then, after a beat, "Well shit, I remember you now. You were that scrawny kid always shooting at cans and things off the roof of the palace with that bow of yours, weren't you?"

"That's me," Clint gave a weak grin, "So can I get some clothes, or am I going to be arrested?"

"Why does Loki want to kill Tony so badly?" Steve moved forward to question him insistently.

"Um," Clint blinked at the man suddenly invading his personal space, and it belatedly occurred to him exactly how complicit he'd been in the attempted murder of the Prince's would-be husband, and how very, very exposed his crotch was to said upset Prince, "So is that a no on the clothes, or…?"

"He's just very focused at the moment," Nick stifled a chuckle, while Steve looked indignant, "No, you're not going to be arrested, and yes, we'll get you some clothes. Then we can talk about what intel you can provide us about Loki and his motives."

"Sorry if I'm a little preoccupied with catching the man who tried to kill my fiancé," Steve huffed, clearly not the least bit apologetic, " _Twice."_

"Come on, Steve, relax; I'm alive, Loki's on the run, and we've got his inside man. Also, hey, y'know, we're getting freaking  _married,"_ Tony pointed out, taking Steve's arm with a cheerful grin, "So smile a little, huh? Things are looking up!"


	6. Chapter 6

Loki reappeared a little ways away, and he swayed against the doorframe a moment, both dizzy at the transport and trying to process all the new information.

This was, admittedly, pretty bad.

His cover was blown, for one. Not just blown as a traitor, but blown completely; Thor, his blasted buffoon of a step-brother, would be able to identify him should King Nick fail to. In addition to that, Barton was no longer under his control, and Loki could admit, if only privately, that he might sorely miss the company.

Barton had been his test run when he'd first acquired the staff that would amplify his powers. The spell hadn't even worked properly; Barton had been far from compliant, even at the best of times. Perhaps that was why Loki had kept him around so many years. Though it was easy to brainwash people, Barton was the only one that seemed to retain any semblance of personality, of spark. Loki had missed that humanity more than he'd like to admit in his years on the run.

Of course, that mattered little now, and Loki was hardly one to dwell on sentimentality.

Especially since he had work to do, and fast. That boy, Anton, Anthony, whatever he chose to call himself, was quickly becoming Loki's worst problem. He cursed himself for not offing the boy years ago—the boy was the lost heir who thought he was a street rat who was pretending to be a Prince with the aid of a genie to impress the Prince who'd been brought in to replace him. What a complicated little twerp the innocent babe had turned out to be.

Most important to Loki, however, was that the brat had the lamp—Loki had seen it hidden in the folds of his turban in their earlier scuffle. Though losing his staff limited him, his own magic was not to be underestimated. He was running a little low after his explosive exit, but he had plenty to turn himself into a harmless, unassuming parrot.

He only had so long before Barton told King Nick everything, after all.

When he caught up with the Stark heir, he was, predictably, with the Rogers boy. They were walking hand in hand out in the courtyard, and though his beak couldn't quite manage a sneer, Loki did so internally. How disgustingly cliché of them. He swooped low to listen in to their conversation, biding his time.

Loki would have to be careful about when he chose to attack, be it with his knives or with magic; as Prince, Steven was well-trained in defensive arts, not to mention quite strong, and Anthony was surprisingly nimble. No, he would do better to wait until their guards were down.

"—just enjoy the moment a bit?" Anthony was chuckling wryly.

"I am," Steven insisted, a bit of a flush coloring his cheeks, "Really. I just, I don't understand why you're not taking this threat seriously. He tried to have you killed twice in the space of a few days, and he's still running around out there. Do you have any idea how anxious that makes me?"

"How anxious that makes you?"Anthony laughed, "I'm the one he's trying to kill here, remember?"

"Which is why I'm anxious!" Steven made an upset sort of noise, and Anthony squeezed his hand.

"Sorry, I'm just trying to lighten the mood. I mean, c'mon, aren't recently engaged people supposed to be  _happy?"_ Anthony teased.

"Of course I'm happy about it," Steven said, though he still looked somewhat affronted.

"That's not a very happy face," Anthony declared, poking and prodding at Steven's cheek, eliciting a sappy sort of grin from the blonde that made Loki dread the sickeningly sweet words that were sure to come next.

"I am very," Steven stopped abruptly, taking Anthony's other hand in his as well, pulling him close for a kiss, " _Very_ happy with you, Tony."

Nauseating indeed.

"Hm," Anthony pretended to muse, "I can't quite tell. I think I'll need some pretty thorough convincing."

"You'd be surprised how thorough I can be," Steven murmured before kissing the Stark boy again, and Loki resisted the urge to gag.

Ugh, teenagers thought themselves so witty.

They ducked off into a more sheltered section of the garden, and Loki decided to bide his time. He took perch in one of the trees far enough away from the duo that he wouldn't be subjected to any…noises, and settled in.

If he waited until there were perhaps a bit more…indisposed, he would have the upper hand.

* * *

"The Stark heir is  _alive?"_ Nick resisted the urge to jump out of his skin.

"Yeah, but he doesn't have a clue who he is," Clint shook his head, "I don't know if Loki saw it, but I definitely saw the kid toting around the magic lamp Loki's been looking for. Which makes him the same street kid we lied about killing a couple days ago—"

"The one Steve was a wreck over?"

"That's the one. Which, if Steve knows who he is, makes sense how he got over the guy's supposed beheading so quickly. Best I can piece together, they met that day Steve ran off, then after getting the genie's lamp from the Cave of Wonders the guy used it to pretend to be a Prince so he had a shot with Steve. Smart enough plan, but kind of stupid since he's already a Prince so it was a waste of a wish, but hey, whatever, his wish—"

"What's all this about wishes and lamps?" Nick raised an eyebrow, not entirely sure if he was keeping up with all this, his mind still stuck on  _my best friend's son is alive._

"Magic lamp." Clint waited for Nick to respond, then, getting nothing, he waved a hand. "You know…rub it, genie pops out, you get three wishes? Loki's been after it for two decades cause he's got Daddy issues like whoa which manifest in a desire to take over the world?"

"I've heard  _rumors—"_

"Well, they're true, and trust me, Loki's batshit crazy about getting his hands on one."

"Anything else I should know?"

"Uh." Clint scratched the back of his head. "I was brain-washed and I didn't want to do any of it?"

"Cute," Nick just snorted, "You ever actually kill anyone? Or help Loki do so?"

Clint shifted, clearly uncomfortable.

"Not…I mean, sort of. I never killed anyone, and I didn't, like,  _explicitly_ help, but…I saw him kill people, which I couldn't do much about being brainwashed and, y'know, a bird. But I guess…I helped Loki with his plans a couple times? I mean, they were total shit to start with, the guy's surprisingly impulsive, but I never helped to plan kill people. I tried to talk him out of killing the Stark guy this morning, and I talked him out of killing Stark as a baby, too, if that helps."

"Somewhat." Nick sighed, waving to the guards. "Throw him in a cell. You've been very cooperative, Barton, and if you continue to be so, we'll talk in a few weeks."

The guy seemed to understand he was being let off easy, and just let his head nod and didn't fight it as the guards led him away. Just before the guards had him out of the room, Clint turned to say one last thing.

"Hey, that Stark kid—Anton, Tony, whatever he wants to be called? I don't know if you guys think you have time or what, but Loki's not a particularly patient guy. As long as Loki's breathing, he's in pretty immediate danger. Just, y'know. So you know."

Nick blew out of the room, already calling for more guards. Tony and Steve were barely twenty-one, hardly even adults, and distractedly horny bastards at the moment—they certainly couldn't handle this on their own.

* * *

"So what's plan?" Tony murmured against Steve's ear, "Can you see him from here?"

"Not at the moment…" Steve whispered back, "But before we went behind that bush I could see him perched in one of the trees. I don't think he can see us. I mean, he's evil, not a pervert, I doubt he followed."

"You never know," Tony shrugged, a fluid motion Steve could feel under his roaming hands.

Steve was sitting on a bench, Tony straddling his lap and kissing his neck in between hushed whispers. Neither man was stupid; they'd noticed the brightly-colored, out of place parrot following them and ducked away to speak in private under the pretenses of making out. And well, okay, there was a bit of that too.

But mostly they were plotting.

"If his aim is to kill me—"

"No," Steve snapped immediately, knowing exactly what Tony was thinking. He turned his head to kiss him harshly, biting his lip in reprimand.

"Be reasonable," Tony told him when he managed to catch his breath, "It's a good plan."

"No plan involving you alone with that psychopath falls under the category of 'good plan'."

"I'm not  _helpless,"_ Tony reminded him, rubbing a thumb over Steve's hip reassuringly, "I grew up on the street, Steve, I know how to take care of myself. And I'd only be alone a minute, long enough to trap him, then you can come bursting in and play hero again, I promise."

"I don't want to play hero," Steve frowned, "I want you not to need rescuing in the first place."

"What, you don't like me as your damsel in distress?" Tony teased, but Steve was unable to get the image of Loki attacking Tony out of his head.

"I don't like you in distress, period," Steve corrected, tilting his head to kiss Tony again, softer this time.

Tony matched his pace, relaxing under Steve's touch. They kissed languidly for a while, Steve's hands anchored at Tony's waist, Tony's fingers carding gently through his hair. Steve let himself forget the images haunting him for a moment—Tony beheaded, Tony drowning, Tony alone with Loki again—and replaced them with something entirely different.

Steve let his mind wander to their future. He imagined Tony dressed to the nines, a giddy smile on his face as he slipped a ring on Steve's finger and Steve did the same, sharing a kiss in front of Nick, God, and all the kingdom. He imagined Tony on their wedding night, eyes wild and hands warm as they fell into bed together, imagined Tony satisfied and compliant after, sweaty and sticky and all Steve's to hold close to his chest. He imagined their life together, ruling the kingdom; with Tony by his side, Steve could imagine anything. They parted with a soft sigh, and the shyly happy look in Tony's eyes told him they were thinking similar thoughts.

Then Tony's eyes glossed over in pain and he cried out, shuddering and gripping Steve's shirt tight enough that his knuckles went white.

"This," Loki smirked as he snatched the turban off Tony's head, Tony himself slumping forward in Steve's arms, "Would be mine."

"You!" Steve snarled viciously, and he moved to get up, but Tony's cry of pain caused him to abort the movement, and he saw Tony drop both hands to press against his stomach.

Something warm and red was seeping through Tony's fingers onto Steve's clothes, and realization of what Loki had done hit Steve like a bucket of ice water to the face. Loki was already running off, and Tony's shoving at his chest was the only thing that finally got Steve's attention.

"For fuck's sake,  _go!"_

Steve carefully laid Tony against the bench and took off after Loki, though worry for Tony was still heavy on his shoulders. Where had he been stabbed exactly? He had been able to talk, so that was something good, wasn't it? Steve was tempted to give up and go back to Tony, but if Loki got away with that lamp there was no telling what would happen.

They might all end up dead anyway.

Steve caught and tackled Loki from behind, right as he rubbed the lamp. Steve got his hands on Loki's wrists, pinning him to the ground even as Bruce appeared in a smoky green cloud.

"So, about that third wi…you're not Tony."

"I am your master now, genie, and I demand my wishes!" Loki insisted as he writhed to get out from under Steve.

"He won't listen to you," Steve just snarled, "What did you do to Tony?"

"Steve, did he rub the lamp?" Bruce's voice had a hint of panic, but Steve wasn't listening.

"You have magic, fix him!" Steve demanded of Loki, who merely smirked. God how Steve ached to wipe that smirk right off his face.

So he did.

He punched Loki a number of times, until his eye was swollen dark purple and his lips had a coat of blood. Something in Steve felt vindicated by it, but something much larger wouldn't feel better until Loki healed Tony.

"You heard me, heal him!" Steve snapped, "I have no problem hitting you some more until you're ready to cooperate—"

"Steve, listen, you have to—" Bruce began again, but Loki talked over him.

"Oh you'll regret that, boy," Loki spat darkly, then, before Steve could think to stop him, "Genie, I wish to rule on high as King!"

"He won't listen to—!"

"I've been trying to tell you, Steve," Bruce looked on, helpless, "I have to."

"But you're Tony's—"

"I belong to whoever rubs the lamp—"

"You heard me, genie!"

Before Steve could react, could knock Loki out, could disable him, hell, even kill him—Lord knew Steve was tempted—Loki disappeared right out from underneath him. Dark clouds swirled above them all as Loki appeared high in the air, his bruises healing, his clothes magically transforming into the King's ceremonial garb.

Bruce grew impossibly large, large enough to lift the entire palace into the air. The ground shook beneath Steve, and anything he had to say was swallowed by ear-shattering thunder. He was knocked to his feet when Bruce dropped the palace atop a hill, and Loki began to laugh maniacally. Steve had to get back to Tony, make sure he was okay—

Then something shot forward from the garden. Tony was on Butterfingers, and he flew close as he could before taking a flying leap, crashing into Loki from behind and sending them both flying to the ground. Steve raced toward them but Loki had already thrown Tony off, drawing another knife and raising his arm with a pitiless smile.

"Get away from him!" Steve roared, fear making him fast.

He rammed into Loki with enough force to knock him away from Tony, but not enough to knock the knife from his hand; he got in a minor swipe at Steve's shoulder instead before setting off another explosive spell to blow Steve back and away from him. He might've meant to teleport again, but that part seemed to have failed, judging by the sour look on Loki's face.

Then, to Steve's horror, he brightened.

"Genie, I wish to be the most powerful sorcerer in the world!"

One colorful blast from Bruce and Loki was rising above them again, his serpent staff rematerializing in his hand as if it had never been broken. With one wave of it he made them both kneel and bow, a red glow curling over their skin, making them unable to speak or move. Another wave of the staff and Loki was flying a still bleeding Tony over to his side, high in the air. Though every part of Steve struggled to break free, the spell kept him trapped on the ground.

"Prince  _Anton,_ was it?" Loki smirked, taking Tony's chin in one hand and making a scowling Tony shake his head no, "Oh? No? What was it, then? Prince Tony, perhaps? Or should I call you Anthony? Tony the street rat, Anton the fake Prince, Anthony the real one…so many identities for one little boy. How do you keep it all straight, hm?"

Loki waved a hand, making the red glow around Tony fade, and he was able to speak.

"So I'm not a Prince, congratu-fucking-lations," Tony snarled, "I don't need to be one to kick your ass."

"Ah, so you haven't discovered your heritage yet. Oh, this is fun indeed," Loki drawled, looking from Tony to Steve, "Oh, but you both must know of the long-dead Stark heir, a mere infant when he was abducted and killed. I don't suppose you remember the baby's name, do you  _Anthony?_ "

The spell prevented Steve from making a sound, though his eyes went very wide as the implication clicked together.

_Anthony Edward Stark._

"You mean…me?" Tony seemed just as dumbstruck.

"For a Stark you're rather daft, aren't you? Yes, you." Loki flicked open Tony's shirt to tap at his tattoo to make his point. "I let you live, all those years ago. I thought to myself, why trouble my conscience with the blood of an infant? He'll grow up on the streets, poor and starving and alone, what harm could he cause me? But you, oh you…you just couldn't keep away, could you? Drawn to the palace, perhaps? Or was it merely your handsome blonde replacement you couldn't resist, hm?"

Loki extended his staff towards Steve, flying him up to join them in the air.

"You leave him alone!" Tony snarled, but it was pointless, and Loki merely waved a hand, using magic to silence any further protest.

"Oh, hush a moment. There's an interesting question of fate somewhere in here, I'm certain of it. Just think, Anthony; I should've killed you twenty years ago, but I chose not to. Had I killed you then, you wouldn't have stolen the lamp from me in the desert. Had you taken the lamp and run when you miraculously survived the cave's collapse, you could've had riches beyond compare and lived a long life, yet you were drawn back here regardless. A third time I nearly kill you, drown you in the ocean of all things, and still you return to plague me. How many times do I have to kill you, boy? Were you simply not meant to die by my hand?" Loki murmured, curling a hand around Tony's throat. He didn't press down, just rested his hand over Tony's throat, thumb flicking over his Adam's apple, exercising his power.

Steve struggled to move, to speak, to do anything, but couldn't quite manage to break the spell that kept him still.

"Your beloved puts up quite a fight," Loki chuckled.

Before either of them could even think to say a word, Loki lashed out with the staff, smacking Steve across the face with it. The force of the blow knocked Steve's head back, and though he still couldn't move, he could feel the blood dripping from his lip.

"He was quite aggressive earlier," Loki mused, continuing speaking as if he hadn't so much as paused, "Simply  _insisting_ I heal you. I must say, I can see his point; you're looking rather pale, Anthony. Blood loss taking its toll, I imagine, though I must admit it's not a particularly Princely look on you. It suits an  _ex_ -Prince, however, just fine. The question is, how to kill you? You've survived three times now, there's simply no chancing such things any longer. Shall I simply stab you again until you bleed out here in the garden?"

Steve's blood went cold, and he continued to struggle against the spell to no avail.

"Oh, not too keen on that, are you?" Loki left Tony hovering in the air to turn to Steve, patting Steve's cheek condescendingly, "But that's so uncreative, and for someone who's survived me time and time again, I think ought to get a little more creative than that, don't you? Hm…I wonder what  _you_ might consider his worst death…lovers fear so creatively, do they not?"

Then Loki was tapping his staff against Steve's forehead. Steve urged his mind to remain blank, tried his hardest to think of absolutely anything else. But it seemed the magic didn't work quite like that, because Loki pulled away with a smirk that could only mean he'd gotten what he wanted.

"Quite creative indeed, Steven."

Steve felt himself drift towards Tony, his arms reaching out of their own accord, his hands inching towards Tony's neck.

_No._

_No, no no—_

_No!_

Everything in Steve screamed a rebellion, but he couldn't bring his body to  _move._ His felt his fingers close around Tony's neck, complete horror and self-revulsion in every inch of his being. The magic prevented either of them from saying a word as Steve's hands tightened almost imperceptibly. Steve would never forget the pure, utter terror in Tony's eyes, and it broke something in him.

Steve fell to the ground, and not from any height to scoff at. He didn't fall quite right either, bruising if not spraining his ankle, but he didn't have time to dwell on that. Instead, he rolled and focused on dodging the spells Loki aimed his way.

"You righteous little brat!" Loki roared, descending to the ground as well, waving his scepter this way and that to pin Steve down, "Fine, if you're so eager to die first, then so be it!"

Loki didn't get the chance to make good on the threat, because then Tony was breaking his spell to fall from the sky as well, crashing onto Loki and wrestling with him for the staff. Steve quickly darted back, but not in time to stop Loki from back-handing Tony, sending him flying.

"Tony!" Steve barely had time to open his mouth before a spell slammed into him, hitting him hard and low in the gut.

"Silence! Your time is up," Loki snarled.

Sand began to pour down on Steve's head, and he found himself encased in a large hourglass.

"Steve!" Tony dove forward, but a row of swords appeared by magic to stop him short. He quickly back-tracked but grabbed a sword for himself, holding it aloft defensively.

"Pathetic, the both of you," Loki sneered, "Unfortunately, I'm just getting warmed up!"

Then Loki was breathing fire in a circle around Tony, who stumbled backwards, trapped. Butterfingers swooped in, trying to steal the abandoned lamp some yards behind Loki, but Loki spotted him and spun around to cast a spell that unraveled the carpet entirely. Dummy was next to try for it, but Loki cast a spell that turned him back from an elephant into a monkey, and a toy one at that. The lamp dropped to the ground, and Steve tried to call for Bruce to get it, but Bruce just appeared beside Steve's hourglass, shaking his head helplessly.

"I can't, he's my master." Bruce wrung his hands, self-loathing in his eyes, "I'm magically bound to serve, I'm physically incapable of going against him."

"What? Afraid to fight me yourself or what, you cowardly snake?" Tony challenged Loki from within his ring of fire, waving the sword above his head like the reckless idiot he was.

"Tony, Jesus,  _shut up!"_ Steve hollered, already terrified for him, but it was too late.

"A snake, am I?" Loki hissed, his teeth becoming long and sharp, his tongue dividing, his whole body writhing and transforming as he spoke, "Perhaps you'd like to see just how snake-like I can be!"

And oh, he wasn't just any snake.

Loki was massive, a green and gold cobra whose body filled up the entire outside of the palace, a flick of his tail effectively blocking off the guards that were just now arriving. Tony ducked and dodged Loki's strikes, managing to get a few swipes in, even a good stab or two, but he was clearly distracted by how close Steve was to being encased in sand.

Steve was getting pretty distracted by it himself.

Then Tony had the sword slapped out of his hand, and became curled tightly in Loki's coils. Loki was hissing in Tony's face now, about how he pitied the fool who thought he could defeat the most powerful being in the universe.

"In your dreams, Loki!" Tony just snapped back, "Bruce has more power than you'll ever have!"

" _What?"_ Loki hissed, displeased.

"He gave you your power, and he could take it away!" Tony challenged.

"Tony," Bruce looked on wide-eyed, "What are you doing?"

"Face it, Loki," Tony just spat with a smirk, "You're still just second-best."

Something about the remark hit home; even Steve, encased in glass and sinking below sand could see it on Loki's serpent face.

"Perhapsss," Loki hissed, "But not for long…slave! I make my third wish! I wish to be an all-powerful genie!"

Steve's last sight before the sand engulfed him completely was the look of devastation on Bruce's face as he was forced to aim a magical finger at Loki, and the look of triumph on Tony's as he watched on. Steve couldn't understand how Loki becoming an all-powerful genie was supposed to be a good thing…but seeing that look on Tony's face, Steve closed his eyes and believed that Tony knew what he was doing.

_Do you trust me?_

Barely a moment later the glass was smashed, and Steve rolled out of the broken hourglass and into Tony's waiting arms. He heaved up sand, his throat sore and his eyes watering at the gritty burn of it, but couldn't help a half-smile up at Tony.

"Thought you were supposed to be damsel in distress this time," Steve joked with a cough.

Above them, Loki was nothing but a green and gold blur, too large for them to even see his full scope. He boasted and ranted about the full powers of the universe, but Tony just held him tighter, stroked his hair, seemingly unconcerned.

"Nah, I don't look half as good in a dress as you would," Tony teased back, but the lines of his mouth were hard, not humored at all. Pain and worry were mixed in his eyes, and Steve realized why when the hardened blood from Tony's old stab wound began to mix with the fresh, warm blood from his large, vicious snake bites.

"Tony—" Steve began, alarm clear in his voice, but Tony just shushed him with a tender smile.

"Shh, hey, don't worry baby," Tony cradled his head, brushing his hair back to press a kiss to his forehead, "The hero has to get a little banged up or it's not a proper rescue, right?"

"Tony, you're going to be okay. You'll be okay, I promise, please, tell me you're going to be okay—"

Steve moved to sit up, feeling altogether alright aside from the sand in his throat and some general bruising, and far more worried about Tony besides. Tony just gently pulled him back down, tugging Steve's head into his lap. Steve let him, too scared by how weak Tony's pull had been not to do everything and anything he wanted.

"It's gonna be fine, it's all gonna be fine—" Tony murmured.

Tony was stroking Steve's hair again as a black lamp appeared below Loki. Steve didn't care if 'it' was going to be fine, he wanted to hear that  _Tony_ was going to be fine, but before he could interrupt and beg Tony to tell him so, Loki was howling with displeasure, drowning out anything Steve would've said.

"What? No! What is this?"

Tony just chuckled, a low, broken sort of sound. He was trying to smirk, but all Steve could see was the blood at the corner of his mouth. Above them, shackles attached themselves to Loki's wrists and he began to shrink, becoming a whirlwind as he was sucked into a shiny black lamp.

"Phenomenal cosmic powers…" Tony said wryly, "Itty bitty living space."

"Brilliant, Tony," Steve reached up to take Tony's hands from his hair and hold them to his chest instead, "You're brilliant. You're brilliant and amazing and if you don't tell me you're going to be alright  _right now_ I'm going to—"

Tony kissed him then. They both knew it was a cop out, but Steve grabbed Tony and didn't let go anyway, not even when the tang of blood on Tony's lips made his heart ache. It was Tony who pulled away.

"I love you, Steve. I said that, right?" Tony gave him a soft, watery soft of smile, "I've wanted to, anyway. Since pretty much the moment I laid eyes on you."

"I love you too," Steve stood up then, trying to get Tony up with him, "Which is why we're getting you medical help, right now, Tony, come on—"

"Steve—"

" _No,"_ Steve insisted, his eyes watering against his will, "We have to get you help—"

"Baby, please stop, that hurts—"

Steve released him in an instant, guilt and shame washing over him as he sank back to his knees, curling around Tony protectively as the guards raced up, Nick just two paces behind them.

"Fucking hell," Nick inhaled sharply at the amount of blood Tony's clothes were soaked in, and the amount he was currently leaking onto the grass.

"It's not that bad, right?" Steve asked Nick desperately, panic all too evident in his voice, "It looks worse than it is, it has to."

Butterfingers and Dummy and Bucky were crowding around now too, their spells broken. Dummy and Bucky each looked hopelessly despondent, while Butterfingers seemed to be fretting about, trying to tell Bruce something Bruce couldn't understand. Bruce, meanwhile, looked about the same as Steve felt. He was a genie, so nothing physical showed, but something in his eyes told Steve that Tony had been more friend than master to Bruce.

"Please," he whispered, to Bruce, to Nick, to Tony.

He was met with silence. Bruce looked ready to cry, Nick was ducking his head in respect, and Tony just looked up at him with a watery smile.

"'s gonna be okay," Tony told him, his words belied by a sharp wince, "'s gonna be okay, you're okay, that's what matters."

"That's my line," Steve sniffled, not bothering to wipe his tears.

"Please don't cry," Tony reached up a hand to brush a thumb over Steve's cheek, "C'mon, we saved the day. We had a magic carpet ride, defeated an evil sorcerer, even got a True Love's Kiss in there. Not your standard first date, but…but pretty good, yeah?"

"The best, Tony." Steve ducked his head to kiss him again, just a chaste press of the lips, "The absolute best."

When they parted, a glint of gold caught Steve's eye, and he carefully rested Tony's head on the grass to go after it.

Tony didn't have time to spare for Steve to explain himself, so he didn't bother. He rustled through the bushes to grab the abandoned golden lamp, gripping it tightly and rubbing it furiously before turning to look at Bruce imploringly, who suddenly looked startled and joyous all at once.

"I wish for you to heal Tony!" Steve blurted immediately, the magic words, but Bruce was already covering Tony in green dust before Steve could even finish his sentence.

"Oh god," Tony moaned, flat on his back in the grass when the dust cleared, "If this is heaven, I am sorely disappointed. Also, if this is hell, it's kind of a letdown too to be honest—"

He was still covered in blood, but as he sat up and prodded at his stomach he didn't seem to be actively leaking it anymore, so Steve felt like it was perfectly okay to all but pounce on him to make sure.

"Oof! Oh, look, a Steve, I'm not dead!" Tony threw his hands up while Steve's arms encircled his waist tightly, scooping him up into the air, "Woo-hoo! I'm not dead!"

Steve couldn't find the words to express himself, so he didn't try. He released Tony just enough to pull him back into a very thorough thank-holy-fuck-you're-alive kiss that lasted up until Nick coughed. When the duo looked up, both Nick and all the guards were on one knee, all the guards' heads dropped.

"King Stark." Nick was the last to drop his head, and in doing so verbally conceded to Tony's rightful claim.

Which was the precise moment they both realized that purely by being alive and over eighteen,Tony was now the King.

There was still a ceremony to be had, but in terms of treatment and deference, there was no question. Tony stood there a moment, blinking and generally looking completely blank, until Steve leaned a bit to the side.

"You're supposed to answer 'rise'," he whispered.

"Uh. Rise?" Tony tried, as if hearing his own voice for the first time.

The guards complied, through many of them looked rather sour-faced about it. They seemed to have figured out the connection between Anthony-Stark-lost-Prince and Tony-the-street-rat-they-arrested, and were unsure how to feel about it.

"…just like that I own a kingdom?" Tony gulped.

"There's a ceremony, and we'll have to tell said kingdom," Nick answered, rising to lay a hand on Tony's shoulder, "But essentially, yes."

"But wasn't there like a marriage thing?" Tony glanced at Steve, "Wasn't that what started this whole mess? And I'm not twenty-one yet."

"Steve's from the secondary royal line—" Nick began to answer, but something seemed to click for Tony, who went very pale.

"Oh god, I'm an incestist! Incestor? Incest-committer!" Tony moaned, "I think I'm going to pass out—"

"You're not related," Nick snorted, and despite already knowing this, Steve was rather relieved to hear that as well, "The secondary line is like a back-up, they're not actual royalty. Which is why Steve had to marry into another royal family by age twenty-one. For a Stark, you just have to be eighteen to qualify, though usually you wouldn't actually take the throne until you were twenty-five."

"More than okay with that." Tony was nodding now, glancing between Steve and Nick. "I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm not exactly well-educated about all these…Princely things."

"Lucky you, your fiancé is." Nick jerked his head at Steve with the smallest of smiles, and Steve's ears went a bit pink.

"Can we talk…alone, for a minute?" Steve was asking Tony, but he looked to Nick to give them privacy.

"Don't take too long." Nick made a disgruntled sort of face as he looked between them. "We've got a lot of cleaning up to do, not to mention the paperwork."

"Great," Tony rolled his eyes, "Paperwork. Is that going to be a thing now?"

"Yes," Nick snorted simply, as he directed the guards back to other areas of the courtyard, already dealing out orders.

"Tony," Steve began, taking Tony's hands in his, but then Tony made a horrified face that effectively distracted Steve from his train of thought, "What? What's wrong, are you still in pain, oh God—"

"What? No, aren't you breaking up with me?" Tony winced, and Steve only barely managed not to laugh out loud.

"What? Why would I be breaking up with you? Tony, you got drowned, stabbed, and went after a colossal snake for me, I think you've more than exceeded your fantastic boyfriend quota for this lifetime."

"You said we should talk 'alone', then you made your I Wish I Didn't Have To Say This face, then you said 'Tony' in your serious voice, it's a reasonable conclusion—" Tony was babbling now, and Steve just leaned into kiss him silent.

"Me breaking up with you?" Steve told him when they parted, "Never a reasonable conclusion."

"Then what was with the face?" Tony frowned a bit, but seemed mollified by the kiss.

"I just…Nick said fiancé, and I know…I mean, I love you, but the reason we got engaged was because otherwise I'd be married off to some princess. We've only know each other a little while and we don't even have rings yet and I just wanted to give you a chance to back out if you wanted to—"

It was Tony's turn to kiss Steve silent, and he was  _much_  more thorough about it. They didn't part for a long few moments, and when they did, Tony's hands stayed very firmly anchored on Steve's waist.

"Do you want to?"

Steve shook his head.

"Neither do I. And okay, so maybe we got engaged a little fast." Tony was rubbing his thumbs in distracting circles on the bare skin of Steve's hips now, and Steve had to force himself to listen to Tony's words. "But who says we can't have a long engagement? I love you, and I know that I want to marry you someday. That day doesn't have to be tomorrow. Just…someday, yeah?"

"Yeah." Steve smiled dopily, reclaiming Tony's mouth once more.

He probably would've agreed to just about anything at the moment; the brush of Tony's calloused fingers against his skin was driving him crazy, and he itched to feel the sensation elsewhere.

"Steve," Tony pulled away to tell himself something, though Steve sort of chased after his lips, swallowing the second half of his name, "No, c'mon, listen, I have something awesome to tell you."

"More awesome than kissing the fiancé I've thought was dead like three times in the past two days? Because I thought that was pretty awesome."

"Steve, Steve you're making out with Anthony Edward Stark, the to-be  _King of fucking Midgard."_

"Is that supposed to impress me?"

"Aw, what, you don't think that's a little cool?" Tony looked put out.

"I prefer Tony," Steve just murmured as he kissed him again, "Much better kisser. Less interrupting."

"If you two are done," Nick said as he came back through the bushes waving Loki's lamp, and Steve made a rather embarrassingly whiny sort of noise in the back of his throat, "Do either of you have any idea what to do with a genie lamp containing an evil sorcerer?"

"Bruce'll know," Tony pointed out, picking up the lamp Bruce had retreated back into sometime around when the kissing began.

"Good to see you're alive, little buddy." Bruce smiled widely at Tony as he was called out.

"You know me." Tony grinned back. "I'm way too stubborn to die that easily."

"Any ideas on getting rid of a very dangerous genie lamp?" Nick raised an eyebrow at Bruce, who shrugged.

"Easy," Bruce told them, floating over to pick up Loki's sleek black lamp. He grew large, winding up his arm like a baseball pitcher then launching it off into the distance, "Ten thousand years in the Cave of Wonders ought to chill him out."

"Hey, Bruce." Tony had a sly smile on his face, "You know, I've still got a wish left."

"Do you? I, uh, hadn't realized." Bruce fidgeted, clearly trying and failing not to look hopeful.

Steve raised an eyebrow at Tony, who just squeezed his hand with a wider smile.

"Yeah. Thing is, I've got this awesome friend, but he's trapped in this tiny-ass lamp for eternity. Which is stupid, cause he has to do crazy things, like help some lovestruck street rat seduce a gorgeous, totally out of his league Prince—breath-taking, I'm telling you—" Tony paused in his faux-innocent ramble to wink at Steve, "And he doesn't get any say in the matter at all. Totally unfair, right?"

"I bet a genie could fix that." Steve played along, catching Tony's drift.

"Why, Steve." Tony pretended to be surprised, faking a gasp and everything. "I think you're right."

"You two are obnoxious." Bruce rolled his eyes, but a genuine smile was spreading across his face.

"You have a soft spot for me, don't lie." Tony just grinned even wider, tossing Bruce his own lamp. "But I'm wishing you free, in case that wasn't clear, so you're welcome to tell me how you really feel."

"You mean it?" Bruce caught the lamp on auto-pilot, clearly searching Tony's face for any signs of joking. He of course found none.

"Duh, I mean it." Tony rolled his eyes, wrapping an arm around Steve's waist and trying to play it off as no big deal. "Besides, what do I need wishes for, anyway? I'm the heir to a country, I'm engaged to the man I love, and I'm pretty sure I've got a nice fat inheritance lying around somewhere. It doesn't get better than that, y'know?"

"Yeah," Bruce just murmured, green smoke swirling around him as his lamp began to glow.

Steve pulled Tony back a ways, letting the transformation do it's magic. When it all settled, a man not much older than themselves stood before them. He was a bit shorter than Steve, with dark curly hair and glasses, and he looked a bit sheepish.

"Ta-da?"

"So, Bruce." Tony wasted no time throwing an arm over Bruce's shoulder, "What do you know about running kingdoms?"

"I've seen plenty rise and fall over ten thousand years…" Bruce answered cautiously.

"Great! Cause it turns out I'm supposed to be running a country pretty soon here, and fuck all if I know what to do with it." Tony grinned.

"Are you offering me a job?"

"I mean hey, if you wanna run off and do something else, totally cool, I get it, freedom and whatnot—"

"Tony's trying to say you have a place here if you want it." Steve stepped in with a smile. "And I completely agree. You've saved his life twice today alone. Anything you want, name it and it's yours. I—we both owe you a debt, Bruce."

"A job would be nice," Bruce answered at last with a tentative smile, "Haven't really needed money for a while, so my job-hunting skills are pretty rusty."

"Not even King yet, and you're already hiring people," Nick chuckled with a shake of his head.

"Oh yeah, cause your hiring policies are really to be admired," Tony shot back, snorting a laugh.

"Hey, Howard hired that lunatic, not me—" Nick started to protest, but was cut off by the head guard rounding the corner.

"The courtyard is secured, sir," Phil reported, and Nick chuckled.

"Tell Stark, not me, if he's so ready to be King."

Phil's lips soured, but Tony was already trying to backtrack.

"I didn't say  _that_ , I mean, let's not be hasty, here. Waiting til I'm twenty-five sounds totally reasonable, I think, don't you? I am nowhere near ready to be King right now, I'd be a complete failure—"

"Relax." Nick clapped Tony on the back. "Aside from the fact that getting rid of a powerful sorcerer's a pretty good start to any Kingship and you have no idea how eager I am to retire, I'll stay on as King until I've taught you what I know. We'll get you the same tutors Steve had when he first came here, too; you'll catch up in no time."

"Oh god, this is going to be  _work,_ isn't it?" Tony groaned.

"That's the spirit," Nick snorted, "You're sounding like your father already."

"Besides," Steve pointed out, "You'll always have me to help."

"Yeah?" Tony prompted hopefully, and Steve rolled his eyes fondly.

"When I can spare the time, that is. I don't know if you've heard, but my fiancé's a pretty demanding guy…"

"You bet your perfect ass he is," Tony returned Steve's teasing with a bright grin, tugging him into a happy, decisive kiss.


End file.
